Backstabber
by AllzStar
Summary: Gender-bender. Stan suddenly starts to notice how pretty Kyla is...the only problem is that Kenny has already noticed, and got there first. Plus, Wendy's got a secret that'll change everybody's lives. K2, Style, some Stendy. TITLE CHANGED.
1. I Just Can't Figure This Shit Out

**This is a silly idea I had a few days ago that I'm expanding on. The rating might go up to T, or maybe even to M in future chapters for coarse language and sexuality.**

**... Enjoy!**

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**Backstabber**

_By AllzStar_

Kyla shrugged deeper into her jacket, her hands shoved in her pockets. She always got so cold so easily. Maybe it was because she was so skinny. Her red curls were gathered in a ponytail at the back of her head, cascading down her back like an auburn waterfall. Her green ushanka was pulled low over her forehead and ears, another attempt to keep her frail body warm.

Beside her, her best friend Stan had the luxury of warm blood. His tuque barely covered his ears, and his gloves were stuffed in his jacket pocket to allow better access to his cell phone. He was texting somebody or other: probably Wendy, his sorry excuse for a girlfriend. He was the only sixteen-year-old boy Kyla knew that didn't make a single move on his girlfriend. He didn't even hold her hand.

Kyla didn't know why Wendy stuck around. It wasn't like she was desperate; there was a line of guys a mile long waiting for her. But she "saw something" in Stan, or so she claimed. Whatever it was, it was damn annoying. Kyla wished the raven-haired bimbo would piss off already so that she could have her best friend back. Maybe he wasn't physically affectionate with Wendy, but he spent a helluva lot of time with her.

Kenny was bobbing along to whatever song he was listening to on his iPod. Kyla snatched the music player from her boyfriend's hand to look at the title.

"Hey!" Kenny grabbed for it, but it was too late. Kyla had already seen that he was jamming along to Bootylicious.

"Are you serious!" she cried, laughing.

Kenny pounced on her, grabbing her into an arm hold. She twisted out of it and got up onto her tippy-toes, stretching her arm out above her head as far as it would go; as if that was out of his reach. Kenny, without getting onto his toes, reached up and plucked the iPod from her fingers, then smiled coyly down at her before tucking the iPod into his jacket pocket.

Stan was oblivious to the playful action, to Kyla's disappointment. Cartman, however, had something to say.

"You guys are sick," he whined from his spot next to Stan.

"Says you," Kyla shot back.

"Says _you,_" the stocky boy retorted, his beady brown eyes narrowing.

"Well, we've gotta find some way to entertain ourselves when we're around you wet dishrags," Kenny pointed out haphazardly, snaking his arms around Kyla's waist and hugging her from behind.

Kyla sank back into his comfy orange parka, sighing happily. She and Kenny had been dating steadily for six months now. She couldn't remember ever having been just his friend that was a girl, even though they had been that way for eleven years. The four of them: inseparable, insuperable, and illegitimate misfits since kindergarten. They each had their typical stereotypes: Kyla, the tomboy Jewish girl; Kenny, the goofy badass; Stan, the popular jock; and Cartman, the flabby piece of shit that doesn't shut up.

Stan finally looked up from his goddamn phone. "P-D-A," he announced, shooting Kyla and Kenny a sneer.

"N-D-A-W," Kyla retorted.

"What?"

"No display of affection whatsoever," Kyla said smugly.

Stan turned beat red and looked back to his phone.

Stan was the victim of a year's worth of teasing about his lack of physical social skills. Kenny had tried having a bro-chat about it, but Stan had thrown a fit and ignored him for two weeks. Since then Kenny and Kyla had given up trying to help him.

Oh, well. Stan and Wendy's relationship seemed stable enough as it was.

Kenny's lips pressed against Kyla's temple before he released her. She and Kenny weren't that couple that was always making out or hanging all over each-other. They loved each-other, but they weren't gross. They were taking it slow. Really slow. They were comfortable that way.

The bus arrived then, and the four sixteen-year-olds climbed on, making their way down the aisle to the very back, where the rest of their friends were already seated. Craig and Butters were deep in conversation; Bebe and Clyde were snuggling; Wendy waited for Stan with glowing eyes. Cartman plopped down into a seat next to Tweek, who greeted him with a spastic jerk. Kyla and Kenny dropped into the seat across from Wendy and Stan's, who were chatting quietly together.

Kenny pulled out his iPod again and handed an ear bud to Kyla, who put it in her ear with a smile. Kenny chose a mellow song ("Spilt Milk" by Kristina Train) and they listened to it in comfortable silence, oblivious to the noisy kids around them. Half way to the school Kenny linked his fingers with Kyla's, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. She smiled up at him. It was the little things that made him so precious to her.

The bus screeched to a stop outside South Park High School. The kids paraded out of the bus in single file, spewing out onto the grounds as one big pile of testosterone.

Ah, Monday morning. Kyla took a sip of her coffee that she had preserved in her travel mug, smiling as the caffeine pricked her senses.

She made her way to her locker with Cartman (the classes were arranged alphabetically and he and Kyla were in the same homeroom), parting from Stan and Kenny a little reluctantly. She hated leaving them for the crappy company of Eric Cartman, although she and the chunky boy had been getting along better lately.

Cartman had been involved in sports for a few years now; he was actually on the same football team as Stan. His fat was slowly transforming into muscle, but he was short, so this made him incredibly stocky. He cleared Kyla's height by just an inch and a half, and she was on the short side at five four.

The two of them got their textbooks and headed off to their classes: Kyla to biology, Cartman to History.

The biology classroom was large and smelled of sterile metal. She took her seat next to Stan, who was still texting. She looked at the phone with disdain.

"Are you still texting?"

He snapped his head up as if he had just noticed that she was there. "Oh—yeah."

"Who are you texting?"

"Wendy."

"But you just saw her on the bus."

"We're having a conversation via text. That okay?" The sarcasm was strong, but it barely fazed Kyla.

She leaned back on her stool and put her feet up on the bar under the table. "Did you do the homework?" she asked casually, trying to strike a decent conversation with her supposedly best friend.

"Yep," he replied.

Kyla scowled. Damn Stan and his monosyllables. It was getting really old. Before she could tell him off, however, Mrs. Trout entered the room and barked at the students to get out their homework assignment. They obeyed robotically, a flurry of noise as pages were turned and bags were zipped and unzipped. Kyla saw Stan finish his message before slipping the phone into his pocket. A sly thought crossed her mind and she began to wonder how much he would miss his phone should it go missing...

The class passed and a sluggish speed. Kyla checked the clock once every two minutes, discouraged when she realized every time that it had only been two minutes since the last time she had checked. She twirled a red curl around her index finger absently as she jotted down the notes that Mrs. Trout was scribbling on the chalkboard. She shot cursory glances at Stan every now and then, but the raven-haired boy was either too engrossed in the lecture or off in his own little world. Deciding it was probably the latter since the lecture was so boring she could have cried, Kyla snuck a peek at Stan's notebook. He was drawing hearts all over the margins of a blank page, his face sporting a thoughtful expression.

Kyla was surprised. She knew that Stan really liked Wendy, but this was ridiculous. He was acting like a little girl in love with some cheap hotshot Hollywood actor, with his silly doodles and dreamy expression. Something weird was going on.

Kyla seized her pencil and began drawing little hearts in the margin of her notebook, too. When she had drawn about ten of them surrounding Kenny's name, she flung her pencil to the ground behind Stan's stool, snapping him from his reverie.

"Damn it," Kyla muttered, reaching around and behind Stan for the pencil. When she emerged she smugly saw Stan staring at her notebook. He looked back at his, and then to hers again, his pencil flying across his page. "What are you doing...?" Kyla asked as she pulled herself back onto her stool.

"Copying your notes," Stan whispered back. "I missed all that." He looked up. Mrs. Trout was handing out an assignment, hobbling up and down the rows. Stan leaned over to whisper into Kyla's ear. "Nice doodles."

Kyla shuddered. His warm breath was contrast to the draughty room she was in. She smiled at him. "Thanks. Yours are nice, too."

He turned bright pink and looked away, awaiting the deliverance of the handout with false curiosity.

Kyla put her finger to one of his hearts, the one that had been carefully shaded in and rounded out. "Mind explaining all this to me?"

"They're doodles," Stan replied sarcastically. "You know; little drawings that make no sense. Teenagers often resort to doodling in class to escape unbearable boredom."

"Guys usually draw...I dunno, guy stuff. What's with the hearts, dude?"

"I have a girlfriend."

Kyla rolled her eyes. "Really? I didn't notice."

"Shut up," Stan snapped, glaring down at his page. He snatched up his pencil and began rubbing out the hearts with the eraser.

Kyla's eyes went wide. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Erasing them."

"Why?"

"Apparently, guys aren't supposed to show that they're in love by doodling in the margins."

"No," Kyla sneered, "they're not. They're supposed to show they're in love by groping their girlfriends or at least get a boner every time she walks by."

"Fuck off," Stan snapped.

Mrs. Trout arrived at their desk just in time to hear Stan's last remark, and after a pointed look and a "Watch your language, young man" gave them each a work sheet and moved on.

"I really wish you would leave me alone about how I treat my girlfriend," Stan said. "I don't tell you how to run your relationship; but out of mine."

And he didn't say a word to her for the rest of the class.

After class Stan took off down the hallway without a parting word. Kyla, a little huffy, made her way back to her locker. She had English Lit next, but she decided to skip it. Kenny had a spare, and she felt like venting. Kenny was the best listener in the world. So patient and gifted when it came to giving advice.

She met him at his locker and they sat in the hallway together. Kenny listened patiently as she described what had happened in bio and how weird Stan had been acting lately.

"It's like he doesn't have a sense of humour anymore," she said. "As if Wendy has just sucked all the laughter out of him. Haven't you noticed that?"

Kenny shook his head. "Can't say that I have."

She sighed and placed her head in her hands, moaning in frustration. Kenny slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him, pulling her into his chest. She rested there comfortably, breathing in his scent and rejuvenating her temper.

"Aw, Kenny," she sighed, nuzzling his collarbone. "Where would I be without you?"

Kenny chuckled heartily and kissed the top of her head. "With Stan," he replied into her mass of red hair.

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**Reviews are humbly welcomed. **


	2. Oh, Lord, I Know You Love Me

**Yes, the whole "gender-bender" thing is a little far-fetched, but I had an idea and acted on it out of spontaneous impulse. I realized I might actually be able to get somewhere with this one. It'll be good. Promise.... :-)**

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Kyla kicked the door shut behind her as she came into her house, barely noticing the dirty snow her shoe left on the paint. She shed her coat, hat and gloves as quickly as she could, tossed her backpack onto the couch where her brother's crap was already taking over and bolted up the stairs to her room. When she came back down she had changed out of her jeans and polo sweater and into a pair of comfy sweats and fuzzy socks. She padded around the kitchen, preparing a nice cup of hot cocoa and trying to push away all the thoughts of what Kenny had said at school.

"With Stan," he had said.

_With Stan._

If he, Kenny, weren't there, she would be...

With _Stan!?_

It was crazy. It didn't make sense.

Regardless of whether Kyla was dating Kenny, Stan would still be fawning over stupid Wendy. Kyla's fists clenched at the very thought of _that girl_ as she paced the kitchen floor, waiting for the kettle to boil. Her blood began to boil, instead. Stupid, stupid Wendy. Ever since Stan had started to date her, he'd seemed...distant somehow. Not goofy and carefree like he used to be. Kyla missed that Stan: that playful Stan that wrestled with her and called her names for no reason, like real best friends should. He hadn't been _that_ Stan for over a year, now.

Kyla stopped her pacing. The kettle had boiled; the pouring the boiling water into her mug and stirred the chocolate powder in, inhaling the steam gratefully. The soothing aroma of chocolate always had a relaxing aura over her.

Hot chocolate in hand, Kyla trekked into the living room and curled up on the couch, clutching the mug in between her hands. She flipped on the TV but didn't watch it. She only stared out the front window, where she could see her eleven-year-old brother, Ike, playing in the snow in the front yard. Innocence. She missed it.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, making her jump. She pulled it out and answered without checking the caller ID. _Surprise me, _she thought.

"Hey, babe."

The corners of her lip pulled out. Of course it was Kenny. Who else?

"Hi," she replied happily.

"Mind if I come over?" he asked.

Her smile grew. "'Course not."

"Good. 'Cause I'm already here."

The doorbell rang.

Kyla looked up, her face radiant. She saw Kenny in the window beside the door, waving at her, his phone pressed to his ear. She flipped the phone shut and jumped up, running to open the door. She pulled Kenny in by his collar and pressed him back against the door to close it. She settled into his chest, burying her face into his orange coat, breathing in his spicy scent.

He was so tall. She looked up at him, her eyes full of adoration. God, she loved him. There were moments when she remembered just how lucky she was to have him.

"Feeling friendly?" Kenny chuckled, stroking her hair. His other had caressed her waist. He sized her up, a quick up-and-down. "Nice outfit."

Kyla blushed, looking down at her after school grub. "Oh. I..."

He laughed, squeezing her. "Shut up. I like it."

The two of them headed into the kitchen, where Kyla began to prepare a hot chocolate for Kenny. The tall boy sat at the kitchen table, his long legs stretching out as he slouched. He folded his hands across his stomach and looked at her with a smooth smile on his face.

She met his gaze and offered a confused smile. "What are you looking at?"

"You look so good," he murmured.

She let out a disgusted, scoffing noise and rolled her eyes. "I didn't know you liked grub, Kenny."

"I like natural," he retorted. "You look fine. You look awesome. Wear those every day. Please."

"You like them because they're easier to pull down," Kyla joked, pouring chocolate mix into the new cup of boiling water.

"You're hot." He was suddenly right behind her, hands on her hips. She trembled at his touch; his hands were cold.

She wriggled out of his hold. "I'm gonna spill boiling water everywhere," she warned, her eyes twinkling. "And shut up. I look like crap. I'm not even wearing make-up."

"Don't put that shit on ever again," Kenny said bemusedly. "You don't need it."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Are you really saying you would like to see all my zits?"

He paused, thinking about it. He sighed and smiled again, touching my waist again. "You don't have any."

"Ah, but I do. You just never see them because I wear make-up." She stuck her tongue out for good measure.

Hot chocolate prepared, the couple cozied up on the couch together, respective mugs in hand. The TV was still on; Kyla switched it off. They sipped their chocolate in silence for a while before Kenny looked around half-heartedly.

"Where're your parents?" he asked.

"There's this carnival thing at the Synagogue tonight," she explained. "I'm watching Ike."

"Bummer," he said, putting his arm around her. "Kid spoils everything."

She blushed and sipped her hot chocolate, deciding it was best not to respond.

She and Kenny hadn't had sex yet. They hadn't even really talked about it. She knew that he respected her choices, however, and knew that there was no pressure. But little comments like that made her squirm, as if there were pressure. He was joking, of course, but Kyla was sensitive to stuff like that. Her strict Jewish upbringing banished all thoughts of sex-before-marriage.

Kenny was an easy-going kid. Rolled with the punches. Accepted life as it came. If she decided she was ready, he's be all for it to try. If she wasn't, he was cool with it. He'd wait. That was probably one of the best things about Kenny.

He sensed her discomfort. Another thing she liked about Kenny: he got her. He knew when something was up. "Sorry," he mumbled, kissing the top of her head.

"No, no, don't worry about it. It's fine." She suddenly didn't feel fine. Suddenly all she wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible. She set her mug down on the coffee table, got up, and went to the front door. "Ike!" she shouted outside. "Time to come in and do homework!"

Kenny looked thoughtful as Kyla held the door open for the little boy, who banged his snowy boots on the entrance mat. He looked over and smiled when he saw Kenny. "Hey, man," he said brightly, brushing snow from his mass of floppy black hair.

"Hey, Ike," Kenny replied, flashing his lopsided grin that almost made Kyla swoon.

"Do your homework," Kyla instructed her little brother.

"Yeah, yeah," Ike huffed. He hung up his coat and headed upstairs.

"He's a good kid," Kenny said thoughtfully.

"Mm," replied Kyla in acknowledgement. She still felt...awkward. She just wanted to look at him right now.

He titled his head to the side, studying her as she was him. "What're you looking at?"

"You."

"Got that. Why?"

"'Cause I want to."

"Come here?"

He was leaving room for the invitation to be declined, but she knew if she refused he'd be hurt. She slowly crossed the room, like a frightened animal, and sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. The light died a little in his eyes, but the smile remained.

"I freaked you out, huh?"

"No," she replied, wide-eyed, "I'm just...weird today."

"Is it because of what I said at school?"

"What? About Stan?"

"Yeah."

"I've been thinking about that."

"I knew you would." His expression turned to one of affection. "Sorry. Again."

She returned the loving expression and took a sip of hot chocolate. "I was wondering why you said that."

He sighed, settling back into the cushions. "I dunno. It's just this feeling I get. I think if I wasn't in the picture, Stan would be all over you."

Kyla frowned. "No, he wouldn't. We're best friends."

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed the way he looks at you." Was there a hint of jealousy in Kenny's eyes? No, it couldn't be. Why would Kenny be jealous of Stan?

"He doesn't look at me any different than he does you. We're all friends. No Wendy, on the other hand..." She trailed off. Her fingers clenched around her mug. "Look. If you're trying to say that Stan's got a thing for me, you're wrong."

"You're oblivious."

"Come on, Ken. You've known Stan as long as I have. Do you really think he would go there with me?"

"Anyone would, if they weren't blind."

Kyla blushed, looking down into the remains of her hot chocolate. "I mean it. He wouldn't."

"Whatever. Just drop it, I guess."

"If something is bugging you, Kenny, get it off your chest. Now." She glared at him from under her lashes. She was starting to get frustrated. One of the bad things about Kenny? He was manipulative. He guilted her into talking about things she really didn't want to talk about. He knew just what to say to make her feel like shit.

"Nothing's bugging me. We don't need to argue about Stan's feelings; it doesn't matter. And who really knows, anyway? That kid's weird."

"He's not weird," Kyla snapped, automatically jumping to Stan's defence out of pure habit. "He's having an off week, or something."

"He's been having an off year." Kenny's tone was thoughtful, now. "I feel like we should say something, but every time we try to he gets all pissy."

"Tell me about it." The anger began to ebb away as Kyla studied Kenny. She never stayed mad at him for long. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, he's made it clear that he doesn't want help, so I guess we should just leave him to figure it out for himself." Kenny met Kyla's gaze and half-smiled. "Agree?"

"Yeah." She picked at a loose thread on her sock. "I guess."

"If it makes you feel better," Kenny said softly, reaching over to touch her knee, "I really want to kiss you right now."

She folded forwards to bring her lips to his: a soft, tender kiss. Warmth spread throughout her entire body as if she had swallowed some kind of magic potion. She sighed, and then gasped when she felt Kenny's warm tongue slide into her mouth. He hesitated, but she tousled his tongue with hers in response, letting him know that she was okay with it. The make-out session was slow and passionate, full of love.

When Kenny pulled away he looked straight into Kyla's eyes: blue met green and sparks flew higher than the Empire State Building could ever hope to reach. He put his hand on her hair. "I love you," he said softly, his voice husky from the kiss.

She believed him.

She brought her mouth back to his.


	3. And They're Just So Sexy It Hurts

**My new goal for each chapter is to exceed 2,000 words. Let's see if I can do it!**

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Kyla Broflovski was beautiful. There was no other way to describe her. It almost made Stan sick, watching Kenny dance with her as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them. Her toes were on top of his and she clung to him for dear life, laughing as she tried to keep up with him. Kenny was so tall he almost engulfed her pixie-like form. Stan watched them with growing envy and a strange sort of interest. They were so sickeningly compatible: they just didn't leave any sexiness for anybody else.

"Stan." Wendy was still bugging him? "Let's dance, babe. Come on."

"I'm a shitty dancer," Stan muttered to his girlfriend, taking a swig from his water bottle. Damn these school dances, he thought as he put his forehead on the plastic fold-out table. Wendy always dragged him along to the stupid things. They were just an excuse to get all hot and sweaty and grind against everybody, then hook up in the parking lot away from the prying eyes of teachers.

Wendy wrapped her hands around his bicep, tugging on it. "It's easy, Stan. All you gotta do is move your hips to the music. Come on, it'll be fun. We haven't danced in forever."

Her pretty smile didn't melt him like it used to. He felt so miserable: he was tired, he felt a headache coming on, and if he had to watch Kyla smile up at Kenny one more time he was going to hit someone. He didn't even have the strength to resist Wendy, so he let her pull him to his feet and lead him to the dance floor. His sneakers dragged on the polished wooden floors. Some Lady Gaga song was playing: that obnoxious new one, where the whole thing is a bunch of gibberish.

Stan and Wendy passed a group of girls who were yelling at each-other over the pounding music. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation, and stopped dead in his tracks when he realized who they were talking about.

"—McCormick is so hot," one of them was saying, her eyes glowing devilishly.

"—so sexy," another one, Bebe, replied, standing on her toes to get a better look. She scowled and came back down. "He's with Kyla Broflovski."

"Well, duh," the first one said, rolling her eyes. "He's crazy about her."

"—one lucky bitch," Bebe replied.

Stan walked up to them, pulling a protesting Wendy along with him. He glared at Bebe before ripping at the group of them. "Don't call Kyla a bitch," he snapped.

Bebe slunk up to Stan and pressed her palm to his broad chest, massaging his muscles with her fingers. "Stannie," she cooed in a voice that was meant to be sexy but wasn't, "it's okay to be jealous. But there's no reason to be rude."

"I'm not jealous," Stan growled, glaring down at the blonde bitch like she was gum on the bottom of his shoe.

Bebe wasn't listening. She was still feeling up his chest. "You been working out, Marsh?" she asked, looking up at him through her fake eyelashes.

Flirting.

Stan used to do it all the time. With all sorts of girls. He'd even tried to get up Wendy's skirt a few times. But lately he just wasn't interested in all that superficial stuff. He wanted a _relationship. _Something special with a special girl....And that girl was right over there, wrapped around the hottest guy in school.

Stan pulled away from her touch. "I'm on the football team," he reminded her, pulling Wendy to his side and kissing her temple. Her eyes went wide at the sudden affection. He'd made up his mind. He wasn't going to let that girl know that he's lost his touch because of the affect she had on him. "Come on, Wendy," he said, smiling down at her. "Let's dance."

He took her hand and yanked her away from the group of stupefied girls, pulling her to the dance floor as fast as he could. The Lady Gaga song had ended and a new, bass-heavy one had replaced it. Stan pulled Wendy close, so that her boobs were pressed against his chest, and put his knee between her legs. He began to rut his hips against hers to the rhythm, and after a few bars in which Wendy just gaped up at him; she began to dance as well. Wendy wound her arms around his neck and raked her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Stan put one hand on her waist and the other on the backside of her thigh, pulling her leg tighter around him. They ground so tastelessly that Stan started to feel a little aroused. They got sweaty real fast.

Wendy's black skirt was riding up her thighs; Stan's hand was on her bare skin, now, and he massaged it sensually. To his surprise, Wendy moaned and thrusted herself even closer so that the top of her head bobbed against his chin. Her raven black hair was coming out of its knot; her bangs clung to her forehead, her eyeliner running at the corner of her eyes. Stan's v-neck shirt was soaked down the back, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It clung to his fit form as he perspired. His hair was clinging to his cheeks and neck. It was all very sexy, but Stan couldn't take his eyes off the girl over Wendy's shoulder.

She was stellar. Gorgeous. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She was wearing green, and oh god, did she ever look good in green. It was a boat-neck emerald t-shirt that hugged her perfect little figure in the most flattering way. Her lush red curls were bouncing around her shoulders; they had fallen a little with the sweat. Her cheeks were a vibrant, healthy pink, like little roses. Her green eyes sparkled as she looked lovingly up at..._him._

Stan would have died of her beauty had it not been for the foxy blond she was grinding against.

Kenny.

That sick, God-like bastard.

Kyla used to be the perfect girl. Modest. Disciplined. Funny. Respectful and respected. Now...she was still perfect, but she'd lost a bit of that modesty, a bit of that respectability. Especially now, at the dance, with her tight black leather leggings and low neckline, rutting her thin hips against Kenny's, she was no longer a perfect little flower in full bloom: she was a vixen. The sexiest there was.

Let's just say that the school's notorious womanizer was doing nothing for her rep. Rumours about blowjobs in the bathrooms and booty calls behind the bleachers were flying around like the black plague. The worst one that Stan had heard was that Kyla was pregnant.

That one, he knew, was bullshit. Kyla was a virgin. And, Christ, Kenny loved her so fucking much he was willing to leave it that way.

Because, no matter how heartbreaking it was for Stan to admit it, Kyla and Kenny were _perfect _for each-other. Sickeningly so. Kyla's gentle nature balanced out Kenny's wild, happy-go-lucky way of life. His rude jokes broke through her tender religious barrier and brought out the humour in her. Stan wanted to puke whenever he thought about how good they were together.

If it had been Stan that Kyla was staring up at as if she were a blind woman seeing the sun for the first time—if it had been Stan's arms she was wrapped up in—if it had been Stan's erection she was rubbing against—well, god almighty—he'd be the happiest son of a bitch in the world.

But it wasn't him.

It never would be.

*

Stan took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh, cool air. He had escaped Wendy's grasp with a claim of having to take a piss and had made a beeline for the door. He loped through the parking lot, heading for his car. He wasn't going to leave—he just needed some time to get his thoughts together.

A movement to his left caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see someone disappear around a big jeep. He stopped in his tracks, contemplating whether or not he should bother seeing what it was. He looked around. It was dark: the single lamppost in the middle of the lot barely lit the thing up. It wasn't snowing, but the chill in the air said it was definitely going to. He decided he might as well check it out and made his way over to the jeep.

The sound of crying reached his ears and he picked up the pace. A small figure was sitting on the hood of the jeep. He skidding to a halt, nearly slipping on the icy pavement. He would recognize that hair anyway...curly...red...perfect....

"Kyla?" he called softly, barely audible.

She jumped and looked round. Her eyes softened when she saw him, but she turned away, murmuring a soft, "Hey."

Stan made his legs move. He pulled himself up onto the hood beside her—it was Kenny's jeep; he recognized it now—and looked sideways at her. She was facing away from him, trying to disguise her tears. He waited for a moment so that she could compose herself before asking the obvious question. "You okay?"

She sniffled one last time before turning to give him a weak, watery smile. "Yeah. I'm fine." She took a deep, shaky breath and put her hands between her knees, swinging her feet.

"Cold?" he asked.

She shivered. "No."

He shrugged off his jacket and put around her shoulders. She accepted it with a small "Thanks". She wouldn't meet his eye.

After a long, pregnant silence, Stan decided it was time to ask. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Kyla shrugged deeper into the jacket. "It's nothing."

"Why were you crying?" Stan asked, leaning closer to her. "I heard you." She didn't respond, so he pressed on. "Kyla, come on. I'm your best friend, you can tell me anything."

"Well," she began quietly. "You know how I'm...well, not ready to, um, have sex, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, see...Kenny _is_ ready."

This surprised him. He was sure that Kenny was willing to hold off on the sex in order to just be with her. That's how Stan knew that they're relationship was real. If horny little Kenny was willing to stick around without getting any—that was special.

"Oh," Stan said dumbly. "Has he been getting...on to you?"

"No, of course not," she said quickly. "It's just that...I feel bad, you know?"

"You feel bad?" He couldn't understand it. "Why do you feel bad?"

She bit her lip. "Well, you know. Kenny's a teenage guy. He's got urges. Testosterone. He can't help it. I feel like a bad girlfriend. I mean, he gives me everything, and I can't give him myself in return."

Stan blinked a few times, trying to process what was going on here. It was ridiculous. Stupid. Unearthly. What the hell had happened to his sweet, modest best friend? He opened his mouth to reply, but he absolutely didn't know what to say.

"We've talked about it a lot lately," she continued quietly, looking at her swinging feet. "I didn't tell him this exactly, but I'm kind of worried that if he doesn't satisfy his...urges...somehow he'll start to pressure me. I can't deal with that sort of pressure; you know I can't. I'm weak, I'm a pushover. I'd give in after a few tries."

Stan nodded dumbly.

"So I said to him...I told him that if he needed to relieve his sexual tension, then he could. With someone else."

Stan snapped his head round to gape at her, his mouth hanging open. "You _WHAT?_"

"I gave him permission to have sex with other girls so that he won't be as tempted to pressure me." Her face was blank, as if she didn't see the huge problem right in front of her.

"Are you insane?" Stan barked before he could control himself. "You let him whore himself off?"

"What else was I going to do, Stan?" she cried, fresh tears in her eyes. "I was so scared that it was going to ruin our relationship! And I couldn't live with myself if it didn't work out because I'm a coward."

Stan shook his head in disbelief. Kyla was too nice for her own good. "That was really stupid, Ky."

"I did it because I trust him," she snapped. "I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

"Yeah, but..." He could no longer think of anything to say.

She continued breathlessly, desperately trying to get him to understand. "There's a difference between love and sex, Stan. Kenny McCormick loves me. And no matter how many girls he fools around with, that's not going to change. He'll come back to me every time because I'm the one he wants to be with. I trust him with my heart, Stan. I do."

Stan sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. A piece of his heart broke off and floated away in his bloodstream. He never stood a chance with this girl. "Alright," he sighed, looking directly at her for the first time that evening. "If you're okay with this...I guess it's your choice." He slid off the hood of the jeep and gingerly put his hands on her knees, looking up at her affectionately. "Just don't cry anymore, alright? You know I hate it when you cry."

She smiled and wiped away her tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He returned the smile and took her hands in his. As soon as their skin came in contact his heart accelerated so fast he almost gasped. "I'm always here if you need to talk."

"I know." She squeezed his hand and smiled. "I love you, Stan." She slid off the jeep and threw her arms around his neck. "Thanks for just...being you," she whispered over his shoulder.

"Kyla!"

They pulled apart as Kenny approached them, a tight smile on his face. "You ready to go, babe?"

"Um, yeah," she said, letting go of Stan completely.

Kenny's eyes darted from his girlfriend to Stan and then back again. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing. We were just talking," Kyla informed him, smiling lightly at Stan. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, for sure," Stan said. He doubted it a little bit. He was feeling sick all of a sudden.

"Bye." She climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep.

Kenny gave Stan a knowing look that was half scowl, half evil grin. "Back off," he was saying without words.

Kenny and Stan's friendship had dissolved soon after Ken had started seeing Kyla. Stan had just found it too much to bear. It was hard enough being best friends with Kyla while she was seeing another dude without that dude being his good friend. Stan had just stopped speaking with Kenny. Kenny had seen it as petty snobbyness and had stopped interacting with Stan, too. Now Kenny was wary of the amount of time Stan spent with Kyla, even though nowadays it was very little.

Stan watched them drive off, feeling heavier, if possible, than he had all night.

* * *

**Well, how's that? 2,565 words! Holy cow! I did it! Let's see if I can keep it that way for the rest of the chapters....**

**Reviews are totally welcome and embraced!**

**Next chapter coming soon! It's the holidays, after all. ;)**

**Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, whatever you celebrate. :)**


	4. I Wonder What They Did At That Sleepover

**Hey everyone! Please keep up the reviews. They make my day. :-)**

* * *

Kyla rolled over, her mouth hanging open in a ferocious yawn. Dull grey light poured in through the blinds, creating fingers across her bed. The sheets were tangled up in her legs, the comforter hanging off the edge of the bed. She had to be the least graceful sleeper in the world.

She reluctantly flicked her eyes open and found herself staring at the ceiling. She swivelled her eyes around, trying to remember what had happened last night. Memories washed over her like waves, pulling her back to reality. School. Classes. Homework. Kenny. Sex. Other girl.... It was all coming back now. She groaned and turned over onto her stomach, her arm hanging over the side of the mattress. Her eyes scaled the floor of her room and were surprised to find that she was not alone here. Someone was curled up on an air mattress next to her bed, sound asleep. She tried to remember who it was. She raked her brain, but her memory was shot in the morning.

With some effort, she reached out and poked the bundle on the air mattress. It immediately writhed and moaned, rolling over onto its back. She saw the head of messy black hair, ratty from sleep, and remembered. Stan had slept over. She'd driven him to her house after school yesterday, claiming she just wanted to "hang out". Really she had just needed a distraction from Kenny's absence.

She knew where the tall blond was. She even knew who he was with. But it didn't make her feel any better.

She focused on Stan instead of the hole in her heart. The two of them had been having sleepovers since kindergarten. Their parents had decided there was no point in putting an end to the overnight visits once they hit puberty; there was no fear of them hooking up. Still, Stan hadn't slept over in...years...since he started seeing Wendy.

Absently, she reached out to stroke his hair. It was soft, like down. Beautiful. She'd always loved his hair. Baby-fine. Raven black. Easily tousled. The most amazing thing to run her fingers through. She smiled into her pillow as her fingers stroked his bangs lazily. Her smile grew when he groaned and leaned into the touch subconsciously. Stan was so freaking cute; sometimes she just wanted to squeal at him. His wide eyes, shy shoulders and cheeks that pooled with blood so fast and when he was embarassed. He was adorable. Wendy was a lucky girl.

Ugh. Wendy. Stupid, stupid Wendy. She was _too _lucky. Stan deserved way better than her. He needed...someone who was focused on more than sex and seduction...he needed someone he could talk to, someone who would sit and listen lovingly as he strummed his guitar and sang in that soft voice of his. Someone like Kyla herself. A friend.

A shock passed through her body so fast she jumped, jerking her hand away from Stan's head. She sprang up in bed, almost knocking her head on the slanted dorm ceiling. Her eyes were so wide it hurt.

_With Stan. With Stan. With Stan._

She realized what Kenny had meant. And, as usual, he was right.

If Kyla wasn't lucky enough to have Kenny—perfect, sweet, abundant Kenny—she would have chosen the one boy who had been by her side from the beginning. The wonder that had been right there all along.

Stan.

It was all she could do to keep from screaming.

She was horrified.

_KENNY._

She jumped up from bed, careful not to step on Stan on the way out.

Enough of this celibacy.

It was time to give Kenny what he wanted.

*

Stan padded into the kitchen an hour and a half later, rubbing his bleary eyes with his fist. Gerald Broflovski was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in one hand, a newspaper in the other. He looked up as his daughter's best friend loped in, a pleasant smile on his face.

"'Morning, Stan," he greeted cheerily.

The raven-haired teen grunted sleepily in response and headed for the coffee machine. He poured himself a mug and added a generous amount of sugar before taking a seat next to Mr. Broflovski. Stan Marsh was definitely not a morning person.

Mr. Broflovski cleared his throat and folded the newspaper onto the table. "I'm afraid Kyla had to leave," he explained, taking a sip of his black coffee. "She said it was urgent. She asked me to tell you to call her when you woke up." He slid the household cordless phone across the table towards Stan, who had perked up a little bit just at the sound of Kyla's name.

He blinked, looking at Mr. Broflovski. The bearded man was like a second father to him. Then he looked down at the phone on the table. Plastic. White. Shiny. Realization hit, but barely showed on his face. Mr. Broflovski wanted to know what was going on. Using Stan to find out.

"I don't know where she went," Stan said quickly.

"I know, son. But she said to call her. So..." He gestured to the phone.

Stan sighed and picked up the phone, dialling Kyla's cell number without looking at the keys. He knew it upside down and backwards.

It rang several times before someone picked up. "'Llo?"

Stan started. "Kenny?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Where's Kyla?"

"Who is this?" he demanded firmly.

Stan sighed exasperatedly, shooting a look at Gerald, who was leaning forward, his brow furrowing. "It's Stan. Where's Kyla?"

"She's...not available." He voice was tight. Strained. Angry.

"Bull," Stan snapped. "Why are you answering her phone? Let me speak to her!"

There was a muffled cry and some scuffling, and then Kenny spoke. "I'm going to hang up, now, Stan."

"Kenny, goddamit," Stan cried, forgetting where he was and who else was in the room. "Let me speak to Kyla!"

"You're never gonna speak to her again," Kenny yelled. The scuffling had started up again. "Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, Marsh. I mean it. If you know what's good for you, fuck off _now._"

_A muffled, "Ken—!"_

"Fuck off, Kyla!" Kenny barked.

"What are you doing to her?" Stan shouted, standing up from the table so fast he knocked over his chair. "I swear, McCormick, if you touch so much as a hair on her head I will find you and...and kill you!"

Kenny scoffed. "Suck my balls, fuckface."

There was a click as he hung up.

Stan threw the phone to the floor and sprinted from the room, ignoring Mr. Broflovski's screams of protest. He grabbed his jacket and yanked it on over his bare chest, then shoved his boots on his feet before banging out the door.

Once outside, he stood in the snow, the worst sense of defeat washing over him. He had no idea where that sleazy fuck was keeping his girl. But he was going to find out. Come hell or high water.

*

"Kenny, you're being ridiculous!" Kyla cried for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. "Stan is my friend!"

The unhappy couple was standing four feet apart on the bridge over Stark's Pond, hands in fists at their respective sides, each with anger towards the other radiating off of their stiff forms.

"You're sixteen and still having sleepovers with the kid, Kyla," Kenny replied hotly. "What do you expect me to believe? That you read gossip magazines and paint each-other's toenails all night?"

"Well, excuse me, but if I remember correctly, _you _were the one out fucking someone else last night!" Kyla yelled. Anyone who knew her well enough knew that she only swore when she was _really _mad.

Kenny closed the distance between them in two strides of his long legs and gripped her upper arms in his hands. Some of the anger had melted out of his eyes; instead he looked pained. Agonized. He looked down at Kyla, whose bottom lip was trembling as she looked up at him in fear. "Kyla—" He choked on whatever else he was going to say. He shook her a little bit, instead. Then he let go of her as if she'd burned him and shoved his hands in his pockets. She toed at the ground, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. He sounded ashamed.

Kyla stood stiff as a board as she glared at him. Her bottom lip trembled as she tried to fight back tears. Her wool knit hat was suddenly too hot on her head: sweat beaded on her forehead despite the biting morning chill. Her scarf was choking her, too tight around her slim neck. Her torso was bound uncomfortably tight in her brown blazer, her arms braced stiffly at her sides, her booted feet pressed together. She felt like if she moved one muscle she would lose it.

"Kyla," Kenny started again, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. "Fuck. I'm so sorry."

Kyla forced herself to move. As she had suspected, a small sob escaped her chest and several tears slipped down her cheeks. She reached out to intertwine her fingers with Kenny's. He pulled his head up to look at her. His face was pinched with sorrow, but his eyes were dry. She gazed at him, her eyes tight with pain, before she pulled herself into him and brought her lips to his.

After a moment, Kenny slowly responded, straightening to his full height, forcing Kyla onto her toes. He pulled her into his chest, holding her as close as possible as their lips meshed together like chocolate. Kyla's tears fell onto Kenny's cheek as they embraced.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were smiling weakly.

"I'm sorry," Kenny said again. "It won't happen again."

Kyla smiled and pulled herself closer to him, resting her cheek on his chest. "You bet your ass, it won't." She said quietly, smiling into the fabric of his jacket. "We're going to take care of this problem. Tonight."

Kenny pulled away abruptly. "No."

"No?" She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.

"No." He shook his head, his bangs flopping in his face. "My testosterone is my problem. If you're not ready, I'll take care of it some other way. I can see now that our little plan bothers you."

"I am ready," Kyla said quickly. She sounded far from certain, however, and Kenny saw through the facade immediately.

"No," he said again, taking her hands off of his chest and clasping them between his own. "You're not. I can see that you're not."

"It's not fair to you," Kyla protested.

"It's not any more fair to you," Kenny pointed out firmly. "And if you gave in before you're ready to, who's going to be hurt the most in the end? Your feelings or my libido?"

She giggled softly, cracking a small smile. "If that's what you want...then just forget this ever happened."

"Agreed." He sighed and leaned away from her, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Guess I'll have to just be doing a lot of jerk—" His eyes swivelled to her and he blushed. "Never mind. You don't need to know."

She shook her head. "I mean forget this whole argument happened. Do what you want to get rid of your blasphemous urges," she added in a teasing tone.

He blinked, stunned. "What? No; it bothers you."

"It doesn't." She thought again. "Not enough to risk your sanity."

"Kyla..."

"It's fine, Kenny."

"I probably won't be able to anymore, anyway."

"Well, just in case you are able to...you have my...permission, I guess. Okay?" She put a hand on his cheek and looked affectionately into his eyes. "Okay?"

He read her eyes for a few moments, searching for any kind of doubt. Finding none, he nodded. "Thanks."

She smiled and pulled him close for a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Behind his back, she crossed her fingers.

*

Stan was waiting for her when she returned. He jumped up from the front porch step and bound down the driveway, scooping her into a bear hug that knocked the breath out of her. "Where were you?" he exclaimed, pulling away and shaking her by the upper arms. "That call scared the shit out of me. Where is he? What did he do to you?"

"Stan, Stan," Kyla protested, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Stop it. I'm fine. He didn't do anything."

"But the phone—"

"We were having a little argument, okay, Stan?" She pulled away from him and straightened her jacket. "And besides, it's really none of your business. Butt out."

Stan crossed his arms. "What I've been trying to tell you for the past year and a half," he snapped.

Kyla glared at him. "This is different."

He threw his hands in the air. "No it isn't! You pry into my personal things all the time. Well, now you know how annoying it is. Only this time I was scared for your _life_. I spent all morning looking for you!"

"Stan, you're being melodramatic. Cut it out." She pushed past him and headed for her house. "Is there still coffee left?"

Stan caught her arm; his hold was gentle, however, as he looked at her pleadingly. "What happened?" he asked. "Do you need to talk about it?"

"We've made up," she explained, her anger ebbing away. "Don't worry."

_I'm not worrying, _Stan thought bitterly. "Did he hurt you?"

She sighed. "He grabbed me a few times. But it's okay. I'm alright. Please don't tell my Mom; she'd flip."

He hesitated, and then gave in. "Okay. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks."

They headed into the house, where Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski were waiting.

Mrs. Broflovski jumped up from the couch and threw herself onto her daughter. Tears were making her mascara run. Mr. Broflovski looked at Stan, his eyes pinched with worry. "The police are on their way."

"You called the police?" Kyla cried, gaping at her father over her mom's shoulder. "Why!"

"Stan told me it sounded like Kenny was holding you hostage or something," Gerald explained, holding out his hands helplessly. "He took off to look for you and I called the cops."

"You're not to see that boy ever again," Mrs. Broflovski was sobbing, clutching her daughter so hard Kyla thought she'd stop breathing.

"Mom—"

"I mean it this time!" Sheila pulled away, wiping at her tears. Her brow was furrowed at a sharp angle over her beady little eyes. "I don't want you to see him anymore!"

"Mom, nothing happened!" Kyla cried, her hands balling into fists. "Really! I'm fine!"

"Tell her what Kenny said to Stan, Gerald," Sheila snapped, folding her arms across the broad bosom.

"Sheila, this is ridiculous. Obviously, Kyla's okay."

Sheila turned to Stan, her expression vicious. "Tell her, Stanley!"

"Uh..." Kyla was looking at him pleadingly. _Lie, _she mouthed desperately. _Lie!_

He bit his lip. Everyone was waiting for him to answer. Kyla's lip was trembling the way it did when she was trying not to cry. He looked at Mrs. Broflovski, who was like a second mother to him. He contemplated the consequences of both actions and decided to...

...Lie.

"I was probably just overreacting," he explained slowly to Sheila. "It...it sounded as if Kenny was mad, but...Kyla said everything was okay." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets sheepishly. "Sorry if I freaked you out. I myself was just...worried." He met Kyla's eyes then, and she saw just how scared he had been.

Sheila's eyes were practically bugging out of her head. She stammered a few indecipherable syllables before turning tightly on her heel and storming up the stairs. "I mean it, Kyla Broflovski!" she screamed from upstairs. "You're not to see that boy anymore!"

Kyla gave Stan a big smile that melted away any doubts he had about lying. He would do..._anything _for her. He was a slave to her smile. His own smile faltered a little when he remembered that she would never be his.

The cops showed up soon after that, and after a lot of explaining and apologies they left. Mrs. Broflovski had come down and forced the officer to take down Kenny's name, description and home address, much to Kyla's distress. Once Sheila had stormed away Gerald got the officer to scratch it all out, claiming his wife was just a worried mother and they didn't want to press any charges against Kenny.

Stan was a little disappointed. Boy, what he would give to see Kenny towed away in the back of a cop car. And whose shoulder would be right there for Kyla to cry on?

His.

Stan Marsh's.

* * *

**And the fun begins! I reached my goal again :-)**

**Reviews are welcome and appreciated!**


	5. And She's Like An Innocent Siren

**Hey everyone! Just so you all know, this is where it starts getting intense. Hold on to your seats! :-)**

* * *

If there was one thing Kyla Broflovski hadn't been expecting, it was the fact that her mother had been serious about forbidding her daughter to see Kenny. Sheila did everything in her power to ensure her daughter stayed away from him. She gave Kyla tons of chores and made sure she did every single last bit of homework every night after school. She pushed Kyla to the point of exhaustion every day so that even Friday and Saturday nights the girl was too tired to go anywhere. And of course Kenny was no longer welcome at the Broflovski household.

After about a week of this Kyla depended on school time to see her boyfriend (because no matter how Sheila tried, she couldn't stop her daughter from seeing Kenny at school). Kenny was sympathetic about the whole situation, but that didn't stop him ripping on Kyla about it once or twice. But he wasn't the only one who felt dissatisfied with the amount of time they spent together. Kyla was almost going into withdrawals.

Kenny's banishment had not, however, prevented Kyla from seeing Stan on a regular basis. Stan came over after school to work on homework or help Kyla with her chores. She hadn't dared tell Kenny this, of course—the tall boy would be pissed right off if Stan was allowed conference with Kyla and he wasn't.

Stan clung to this new found privilege like it was a lifeline.

One Saturday afternoon as he and Kyla were lounging in her living room playing a half-hearted game of chess (Kyla beat Stan every time), Stan decided it was time to get out of the house. When they were kids he'd spent as much time at Kyla's house than at his, and now it was starting to seem like that again. He sat up and sighed, stretching his arms over his head.

"Let's go somewhere," he said, yawning.

Kyla didn't even look up her spot on the floor. "Can't."

"Sure we can. Why not?"

"Mum'll think you're sneaking me out to see Kenny." She moved her bishop three squares, dooming Stan's king. "Checkmate."

He knocked the piece over with his finger. "Why the hell would your mom think that?" The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He bit his lip, anticipating Kyla's harsh reaction.

But the redhead only laughed humourlessly, stretching out on the floor. Stan tried not to stare when her shirt rode up, exposing her flat stomach to him. She released the stretch and pulled her shirt down bashfully; Stan blushed when he realized she'd caught him looking.

"Look," Stan leaned forward on the couch, looking pleadingly down at her. "Let's just go to the coffee shop or the ice rink or something. I don't care. I've just gotta get out of here."

Kyla bit her lip, thinking it over. Her eyes lit up with a brilliant idea. "Let's go to the movies."

"The movies?"

"Yeah. It's dark. Even if Kenny's there, he might not see us!"

So Kyla was concerned, not that Stan might get his ass kicked by Mrs. Broflovski, but that Kenny might be mad if he saw her out and about with Stan. Typical.

"Sure," he said, but he felt miserable.

Mrs. Broflovski was surprisingly pleased with their plan. She even offered to pay for their tickets. Kyla was overjoyed and practically bounded out the door, pulling on her coat as she went.

"Freedom!" she cried as she burst out of the house. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Kyla was sixteen. As Stan watched her dance around in the snow that was falling in quiet little clumps, her tongue out to catch some, he smiled fondly. Her innocence was what made her seem so young. Never mind the fact that she was short and petite. Her bright red curls stood out like blood against the washed white and grey background of the street as she twirled around. Her green scarf danced with her, ice crystals buried in the wool. She opened her mouth and laughed, throwing back her head. Stan was completely mesmerized.

He was snapped back to harsh reality when a snowball hit him square in the face. He coughed and spluttered, stumbling back into the front door. Kyla's pealing laughter reached his ears and he grit his teeth in a mischievous grin. "You're gonna get it!" he yelled, wiping the snow off his red face. He reached down to grab a handful of snow.

Kyla screamed and fled down the street, her laughter sparkling through the air like bells. Stan chased after her, chucking snowballs in her general direction, aiming to miss. When they were far enough away from the Broflovski home he closed the distance between them easily (Kyla may be fast, but she could never outrun the captain of the football team) and wrapped his arms around her from behind, lifting her straight off the ground. She kicked and screamed; half her screams were bursts of laughter. Her flailing caused Stan's balance to fail; they both pitched sideways into the snow bank, laughing till they couldn't breathe. Kyla clutched her sides as she screamed with mirth, her face glowing.

Stan had stopped laughing; he'd just realized that he was practically on top of her.

Kyla's laughter slowly died out when she, too, realized the awkwardness of their position. He giggled nervously, expecting him to realize it, too, and roll off.

But he didn't.

He was mesmerized by her eyes, sparkling in the snow.

Kyla opened her mouth to make some pressing joke, but Stan was lifted off of her before she could speak. Stan yelped in surprise as someone lifted him by the collar of his jacket, pulling him up till he was on his feet.

"Nice one, Marsh," sneered an all-too-familiar voice. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were actually gonna kick up the courage to kiss her."

"Fuck off, Cartman," Stan snapped, his face turning a brilliant shade of pink.

Cartman chuckled and let Stan go, nearly throwing the smaller boy off balance. He nodded down at Kyla, who was still lying wide eyed in the snow. "Hey, Broflov," he said, offering her his hand. Kyla, stunned, took it.

Cartman laughed and pulled her up violently, flinging her straight into Stan, who yelped and stumbled backwards, almost falling again. Cartman's antagonizing laughter set Kyla off, and Stan watched the scene unfold with a smile. Back to their old antics, he thought, rolling his eyes.

"Is it your sole purpose in life to annoy people, fat ass?" Kyla snapped, her eyes narrowed to emerald slits. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I happen to be doing something useful today," Cartman chided back, his face stretched in a wild, gleeful smile. "You know, unlike the Jews."

"Shut your mouth, you fat fuck!"

"_Not _fat!" Cartman countered, gesturing to his bulky body. "Muscle. Suck on that, Jewrat!" He paused, his eyes wide. "Oh, but wait. You don't suck _any_thing, do you? You still haven't let McCormick bone you!"

"I swear, Cartman, someday, somewhere, _someone _is going to wipe that asshole smirk off your face once and for all!" Kyla yelled, getting up in Cartman's face. This wasn't hard to do considering he was only a few inches taller.

"And that someone isn't going to be you," Cartman sneered. "Ya know why, Broflov? 'Cuz you're a chicken shit little son of a bitch." He stepped away from Kyla, his hands in his pockets. "That forty-year-old virgin is _you, _my dear."

Stan grabbed Kyla before she could lunge at Cartman, who snickered and walked away with a, "Later, fags".

"I _am _gonna hit him one day," Kyla promised, shaking Stan off of her. "Not a little slap, either. I swear, one day I'm just gonna beat the shit out of Eric Cartman."

"You do that," Stan said, patting her shoulder. "We're gonna be late for the movie if we don't move."

"Fuck the movie." Kyla flopped back down into the snow bank, her arms crossed over her chest. "I don't want to go anymore."

Stan's heart sank. Leave it to Cartman to ruin everything. He took a seat next to Kyla, who was silently fuming. "Aw, Kyla, don't let Cartman ruin your fun," Stan said. He was whining, now, but he had no choice. "He's really not worth it—"

"Do you think I'm a coward, Stan?" she asked, cutting him off.

Stan blinked. "Why would I think that?"

"Because I refuse to fuck Kenny." Whoa, was she mad. The good little Jewish girl was gone. Instead she was an angry ball of fire, ready to explode at any minute.

Stan bit his lip thoughtfully. "No, Ky. I don't think you're a coward. And you shouldn't either," he added for good measure.

Kyla sighed, her hands flopping into the snow helplessly. "It's not just that, Stan. The teasing. It's...well, this is going to sound horrible, but it's not me. It's...it's Kenny."

Stan's eyes widened to the size of plates. Yes. YES! "What do you mean?"

"I haven't told _anyone _this before, and you're not going to either." She looked at Stan, who nodded in confirmation. "But...it's not that I'm unwilling to have sex. Not anymore, anyway. It's just...I don't know how many girls—or guys, for that matter—Kenny's slept with. I don't...know where he's been, you know? That's what worries me. I love him, and I _do _want to sleep with him at one point—" Stan gritted his teeth to keep from wincing. "—but I'm just terrified of the consequences. Not only, you know, _pregnancy, _but also...who knows what kind of diseases those girls were carrying—who knows what diseases _he _might be carrying?"

Stan didn't know what to say, but she wasn't finished, anyway. "I guess what I'm saying is: I'm not afraid to have sex. I'm just afraid to have sex with _him._" She took a deep breath; she'd said all that in one burst of air.

"So don't," Stan said before he could stop himself. "Don't sleep with him. There's no rule anywhere that you have to."

"But he expects me to," Kyla cried dejectedly. "I haven't told him what's really bugging me. How could I tell him something like that? 'Hey, Kenny, sorry for not giving you any at all but it's because I'm scared you might give me AIDS'? It's horrible!"

"I think Kenny's a fool for expecting anything like that from you," Stan said. "Relationships aren't just about sex. He's just a horny little prick."

"He's not," Kyla protested quickly. "He's just...I don't know. Ready for a serious relationship. Whereas...I'm not. With him."

Stan leaned down and over, trying to look at her face. "Kyla?" he said quietly. "It's not just the potential diseases, is it?"

She was trying not to cry, now. After a long pause, she shook her head. "No."

"What's really worrying you?" Stan asked gently, boldly taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over it tenderly. "You can tell me anything, remember?"

"It's not really worrying me," Kyla mumbled, choking back tears. "It's just...I don't want him to be my first." She finally met Stan's eyes just as the first tear escaped. "He's not the one."

Stan's heart leapt and soared, but he refused to let it show on his face. He pulled Kyla in for a hug. She managed to suppress the rest of the tears, taking several deep breaths of Stan's scent. It was nicer than Kenny's, she realized, as she breathed in the sweet smell of vanilla and cinnamon aftershave. She pulled away before the scent could dim her senses, and smiled gratefully at her friend. "Thanks. I needed that."

Stan returned the smile and stood, pulling her up with him. "No problem." He casually slung an arm over her shoulders, steering her in the direction of the movie theatre. "Now come on. We might still be able to catch the three fifteen show."

*

Kyla had insisted on buying the popcorn and sent Stan to save seats. While he waited for her in the center of the very back row, he pulled out his phone. He'd been neglecting it for a while, and groaned when he saw the "167 new messages" box flash across the screen. Every single one of them was from Wendy.

Wendy had been less than pleased when she'd found out Stan was spending lots of time with Kyla. She'd tried to get together with him several times since then, but Stan always wormed his way out of it somehow. Wendy was a nice girl and everything, and she was sort of his girlfriend, but she was no Kyla. Not even close.

He read the last message:

**WUR R U? R U WITH KYLA AGAIN?! R U IGNRING ME AGAIN? TXT ME!!!!!!!!**

To which he replied:

**Busy with h/w. Call you later.**

And he turned off his phone and shoved it deep into his pocket. No more Wendy today.

* * *

**And the truth comes out!**

**It's not as long as I would have liked, but oh well. It still exceeded 2,000 words. The next chapter will be longer. **

**Pretty please review?**


	6. You'll Never Love Me Like You Love Her

**Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter guys! It really inspires me to keep going! I can't believe I got 2 chapters up in one day!**

* * *

**STAN TXT ME ASAP**

**STAN DID U LOSE UR PHONE R SMTHNG?**

**THRS A NEW ART EXHIBIT PLS TXT AND WELL CHCK IT OUT**

**STAN IM ACTUALLY GETTING WORRIED PLS TXT**

**STAN SRSLY WUR R U??? ANSWR ME!**

**STAN IM GONNA CALL UR MOM**

**STANLEY MARSH IF YOU DON'T CALL OR TEXT ME IN TWO MINUTES I AM GOING TO COME LOOKING FOR YOU. **

**IF YOU'RE WITH THAT GIRL SO HELP ME GOD...**

Stan sighed and opened a text window, thinking of what he could possibly say that would stop Wendy from going on a bitchy rampage. He settled for:

**Art exhibit sounds fun. I'll meet you there in ten minutes. Love you. 3**

Short and sweet. He'd have to face the bombardment of questions when he got to the museum, though. He raked a hand through his already tousled mane of black hair. He needed a haircut. His hair was curling round his ears and the nape of his neck, his bangs constantly falling into his eyes. It would drive him crazy, if Kyla didn't manage to do that first.

The movie had turned out to be pretty good, which was unfortunate because Kyla had been totally into it. Stan had been hoping that they could sit at the back, laughing and making fun of the terrible movie while everyone else in the theatre glared at them. But Kyla was a sucker for romantic comedies, and Stan cursed himself for not choosing the cheesy, low-budget sci-fi movie instead. What had he been expecting anyway, for the romance in the movie to transfer from the screen to Kyla? She didn't touch Stan once during the whole thing. Didn't brush his hand in the popcorn bag, didn't let her arm touch his on the armrest. It was all a little deflating.

He hadn't been expecting much, but...still.

His phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump. He used his hand to prop his head up to read the new message from Wendy. Instead of a tirade of accusations, the text was desperately urgent.

**Please come to my house ASAP. I need your help! Please.**

Stan jumped up from his bed and tugged on his boots. Whether or not he was in love with her, she was still his girlfriend, and she needed his help.

"I'm going to Wendy's," Stan called to his mom as he grabbed his jacket and the keys to the van.

Sharon Marsh looked up from her magazine, frowning. "Stan, it's ten o'clock at night."

"I know, but it's urgent."

Something in Stan's face must have convinced Sharon that he had to go, because she nodded solemnly and watched her son leave with a worried expression.

It was only a ten minute walk to Wendy's house, but Stan had a feeling he should hurry his ass up. He climbed into the van and backed out, nearly crashing into the next house because of the unexpected black ice.

"Christ," he growled as he slid the van back onto the road. Why there would be black ice on the roads tonight of all nights was beyond him. It took all his concentration to get to Wendy's house safely.

He pulled over across from the house and got out of the van as fast as he could, forgetting the black ice. He slipped on a particularly slippery patch of it as he was locking the van and fell, hitting his head on the door. He groaned and put a hand to his head, where a ribbon of blood was forming on his forehead. He immediately felt dizzy and felt himself go pale, but forced himself to get up. He reached into the glove compartment of the van and pulled out the first aid kit, deciding he'd have to treat his cut inside.

He slammed the door, locked the van, and carefully made his way across the street and up the path to Wendy's front door. He lifted his fist and knocked. One. Two. Three.

One...Two...Three...

Four.

The door flung open and Wendy stood there, her hair dishevelled, her eyes wide, her face tear-stained. "You're here!" she breathed, as if she hadn't expected him to show up.

"Yeah," he said slowly. He was still feeling nauseous from the blood.

Wendy's eyes found the cut as she gasped, pulling Stan inside and closing the door behind him. "What happened?" she asked, pulling him down onto the couch and popping open the first aid kit and rummaging through it for Band-Aids and alcohol wipes.

"Slipped on the ice," Stan explained stupidly, trying to keep from falling over. "Hit my head on the door of the van." Damn it. Blood had always been his weakness.

Wendy found the alcohol wipes and gently dabbed one over Stan's cut. It burned, and he winced. "Sorry," she said apathetically, her eyes sympathetic. She was way too into treating his wound. As if she were distracting herself...putting something off.

"Wendy," Stan said as she fished through the kit for a bandage.

She looked up, her face tense, as if she expected him to start yelling at her. "Yes?"

"What's the matter?"

"Matter?" Her eyes were so wide he thought they would pop out of their sockets. "What's what matter?"

"You sounded really stressed in your text," Stan said, fishing out his phone and selecting her last message. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," she said quickly, ripping open a Band-Aid and manoeuvring it over Stan's cut. He grabbed her hand and forced it down to look at her.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Her lip trembled as she looked up at him, and he had an awful feeling that he really didn't want to know.

*

Kyla's phone buzzed, startling her awake. She hadn't been expecting any calls or texts tonight so she hadn't bothered to turn her phone off. She sat up and scooped the little device into her hands, peering blearily down at the message that had just popped up. It was from Kenny.

**OK if I call u?**

She replied with a quick:

**SURE.**

And waited. She picked it up on the first buzz and pressed it to her ear. "Hey, hon."

"Hey," he replied. His tone was casual. "Sorry for calling so late. I was gonna call you earlier but I ended up working all day."

"It's alright," Kyla said, picking at her cuticles. She waited for him to get to the point. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering how you've been. We've barely talked all week."

"We talked at school."

"School is for schmoozers," he said jokingly. "What did you do today?"

Kyla almost sighed. So that's what this was about. Stupid fucking Cartman. If she found out that the fat fuck had gone blabbing to Kenny about what he'd witnessed between her and Stan in the snow bank, she was actually going to kill him. "Nothing. Well, I saw a movie."

"A movie? What movie?"

"Something-something-love. I dunno. It was dumb. Chickflick." Actually, she'd really liked the movie. But she didn't want to get into it. Not at ten o'clock at night when she was half awake.

"You're not very chatty tonight. Everything okay?"

"I'm tired. I was sort of dozing when you called."

"Babe, why didn't you say something before? I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's fine. And stop calling me babe. I have a name." She didn't know why she was being so pissy with him. It wasn't Kenny's fault that she'd felt a stirring in her gut when Stan had chased her down the street and landed on top of her in the snow. It wasn't Kenny's fault that she had confessed her darkest secret because of it. It wasn't Kenny's fault that now she herself knew the truth. But for some reason she still blamed him for everything.

Kenny sighed. "Okay, Ky. What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Too harsh. Now she was acting like a brat. Screw it. Hang up now, before more damage is done. Come on, Kyla. Say good-bye. Before he asks more questions—

"Who did you see the movie with?" Kenny asked after a pause, the casual tone back.

"No one. I went by myself."

"Really. Cartman told me he saw you there with Stan."

Kyla stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming. She was going to do it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she was going to wipe that smile off of Eric Cartman's face for good. "Cartman didn't see us at the theatre. Cartman saw us on the street having a snowball fight on the way to...to..." Fuck. To what? No matter what she said, she was busted. Kenny knew.

"So how come Stan gets to hang out with you on the weekend but I don't?" His tone was poisonous. Growing angry.

"Because my mom isn't pissed at him because of a certain phone call," Kyla snapped. "Stan wasn't the one looking through all my text messages and physically blocking me from answering my own phone."

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about that anymore," Kenny growled.

"Because you feel bad, or because it makes you look bad?" Kyla snapped. "It's not like that was the first time you got rough with me."

"I'm gonna call you again when you're not being a bitch," Kenny snarled. Before Kyla could reply the line went dead.

She threw her phone down onto her bed and hugged her knees to her chest, pressing her eyes into her knees until she saw stars. She hated these kinds of arguments. Petty. Silly. Degrading. They popped up regularly throughout her relationship with Kenny; she had always passed it off as normal in any kind of relationship. One of the bad things about Kenny was that he read too far into things and held quite the grudge. It wouldn't surprise her if he didn't call her tomorrow.

She flopped down onto her bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held the key to the world. As she began to drift into a dreamless sleep, Stan's face popped into her mind and she smiled. No matter what happened, she was okay as long as she had Stan.

*

Wendy suddenly slammed her lips onto Stan's. The kiss was so ferocious he almost fell off the couch. Her body pressed against his as she attempted to devour his face. Stan discreetly tried to push her off, but she wouldn't have any of it. She climbed on top of him, pressing him back into the armrest so that it dug uncomfortably into his back. She violently shoved her tongue into his mouth and tried to wrestle his tongue, but he remained limp and unamused.

He finally grabbed her face and pulled her away from him, glaring up at her. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I just...I needed to feel..." She sprang up and off of him and curled into the corner of the couch farthest away from him. "I needed to see if you still loved me." She started to cry. "But you don't.... You never look at me the way you look at...at _her. _You don't love me like you love her. I can see that now."

Stan was shocked. He was the biggest asshole in the world. A classic fool.

Wendy got up from the couch and grabbed his coat, handing it to him without meeting his eyes. "I think you'd better go now, Stan. This..." She bit her lip as tears bubbled over her eyelids. "This is over." She pushed past him and bounded up the stairs, barely suppressing her sobs.

Stan stood in the doorway, stunned, his jacket hanging limply from his hand. He was frozen in a void of disbelief. As he shuffled out of the house and made his way across the slippery street, the awfulness hit him. Stupid Stan. Stupid. Stupid. Fuck. FUCK!

"FUCK!" he cried as his foot slid right out from underneath him. He went down with a bone-rattling crash, and tried not to remember the horrible sound his skull made when it made hard contact with the ice. He was too tired, to depressed, to even try to get back up. The world span around above him, the stars blurs of light, twinkling millions of miles away. He blinked several times, trying to focus on them, but darkness was fast closing in on him. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, giving in to the bliss of unconsciousness.

* * *

**Ugh. Don't like this chapter. It's nowhere near the quality of the others. Sorry guys. I know it sucks. Bear with me; the next one will be better. I'll have it up after Christmas. **

**Please review...even if you thought it was crap.**


	7. The Unfixable Mistake

**Yes, I changed the title. Why? Because the old one sucked and had nothing to do with the story. Also, the title 'Backstabber' just appeals more to the angst in the story and makes more sense!**

**A bit more news to tell you...if you haven't visited my website yet, you might want to. I've made posters for this story with pictures of people representing the characters. Some of them are quite cool—feel free to browse on over there. Or you can just read this chapter. If you wanna see the posters, the link to my site is on my profile.**

**Anyway, MERRY CHRISTMAS and enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Stan wished he'd just lain there, in the middle of the road, oblivious to the world around him and cold damp seeping through his clothes. He wished Wendy hadn't seen him fall from the window. He wished she hadn't come rushing out to wake him up. He wished she hadn't pulled him up and dragged him back into the house. He wished he hadn't let her run her fingers through his hair. He wished he hadn't liked it. He wished she hadn't started crying all over again. He wished she hadn't apologized. He wished he hadn't apologized. He wished she hadn't started kissing him. He wished he hadn't liked it. He wished he hadn't started kissing her back. He wished he hadn't pressed her against the cabinets in the kitchen. He wished he hadn't taken her shirt off. He wished she hadn't taken his shirt off. He wished her parents had been home. He wished he hadn't let her pull him upstairs to her room. He wished he hadn't pushed her down onto the bed. He wished he hadn't shoved his tongue in her mouth. He wished she hadn't battered his tongue against his. He wished he hadn't liked it. He wished he hadn't taken off the rest of her clothes. He wished he hadn't let her take off the rest of his clothes. He wished he hadn't fucked her.

He wished he hadn't liked it.

*

Kyla yelped when her locker door was slammed shut with a metallic _bang. _Cartman stood before her, his fat, ugly face twisted in a sneer. "Hey, Jew." He must have seen the burning rage in her eyes because his face fell and he took a step back, his hands out. "Hey, no hard feelings, right?"

Kyla's books fell to the floor with a clatter as she lunged at him. He grunted when her fist made contact with his fat cheek, sending him reeling back a few steps. She wasn't strong enough (or he was just too fat) to knock him right over; she wasn't satisfied yet.

"I told you I'd kill you if you told him," she spat, advancing towards him again, her fist in the air. "_I told you I would wipe that goddamn smile of your fucking face for good if you told him!"_ She lunged for him again, but someone caught her around the waist and swung her around, away from her gaping nemesis. The fat fuck had his hand on his cheek, the stupidest look of shock on his fat fucking face.

Kyla struggled against her captor; she ended up bighting his hand. He yelped and let her go in surprise. Without thinking, Kyla whirled and socked him square in the face.

Before she could see who she had just assaulted, somebody _else _grabbed her and shoved her back against the lockers in a headlock so tight she couldn't breathe. She struggled and kicked, but Cartman wouldn't let up. He held her face against his thigh as he growled in her ear. "You'd better watch yer goddamn Jew back, bitch," he spat, tightening his grip further. "Touch me again and I'll hit you so hard yer cunt-hole moma will feel it. _Got it_?" He gave her a little warning shake for emphasis.

Kyla was presently turning blue and not paying much attention to what Cartman was saying. She desperately hit at his fat leg, making pitiful little choking noises. Cartman finally let her go, and she fell to the floor, gasping for air, retching as her lungs wailed in need. Someone was yelling Stan's name. Stan's name? Why...?

Kyla looked up, avoiding the gaping stares of the students that had gathered in the hallway, they're faces shocked, amused, or worried. She saw Cartman being dragged off by Craig and some other kid, his fat face bright red with rage as he tried to go at Kyla again. She looked around more and saw Stan standing a few feet away, nursing his bloody nose. Wendy was hanging off of his arm, trying to help him with a tissue. He was looking at Kyla with the strangest expression. As if he were...impressed.

Someone's fingers wrapped around Kyla's upper arms and pulled her to her feet. She gasped at the sudden movement and careened straight into Kenny's torso. He supported her easily, and when she looked up she saw that his brows were arched upwards in worry, the crease in between them prominent under the fluorescents. His cheeks were red, as if he'd run a long way.

"Are you okay?" he demanded, his voice higher than usual.

It struck her. Kenny was really worried. There was fear in his eyes as he took in her pale face and raspy breathing. She nodded; she couldn't speak yet. He carefully pulled her into him, hugging her gently so as not to irritate her air intake any further.

"Are you sure?" he asked, pulling away. His eyes darkened with anger. "I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."

"Allow—me," Kyla managed to choke out, smiling weakly.

Kenny's face broke into a careful, wary smile; his eyes were still burning with anger.

"I'm fine," Kyla assured him, straightening herself out. "I went at him."

"You what?" he demanded, his eyebrows disappearing under his bangs.

"I hit him," she declared proudly.

"You hit Cartman? Why?"

She smirked. "Do I really have to have a reason?"

Kenny chuckled lightly and rubbed her upper arms with his palms. "Well, good on you, Kyla. But, do me a favour? Next time you go to hit someone, be sure you know how to defend yourself in case they come right back on you. Promise?"

She laughed: a raspy, horrible sound. "I promise."

"Cartman's such a douche; he _would_ hit a girl." Kenny rolled his eyes, but his jaw was tight.

"He didn't hit me," Kyla told him, defending her dignity rather than him. "He just—"

"Tried to kill you." Kenny finished bitterly.

"He wouldn't have actually choked me to death. I think I can safely say that if I died Cartman would be quite distraught." She smiled at the thought of Cartman bawling at her grave.

"Yeah," Kenny said coolly. "Then he wouldn't have anyone to slap around."

"We've never fought before," Kyla pointed out. "Not physically, anyway."

"Hey, Broflovski," someone called. "Nice fist, you got there."

She turned around. Stan was standing a few feet away, that cute little lopsided smirk on his face, dry blood waiting to be cleaned off of his nose. "But next time...hit the enemy, not the accomplice."

Her face fell and her eyes went wide. "Oh! Stan—my God, I'm sorry!"

He held up a hand, silencing her. "Don't worry about it. It didn't hurt _that_ much. I'm just hella impressed you actually hit him."

"He deserved it," Kyla said darkly. "The fat fuck." She looked back at Stan, who was still smiling at her in that odd, yet slightly cute, way. "I'm sorry I hit you, Stan."

"My fault."

"What? How is if your fault?"

"I got in the way. Dunno why I did that. I really should have just let you pummel him."

"And let her get pummelled back, I see," Kenny snapped, staring Stan down with disdain in his proud blue eyes.

Stan's face fell and Kyla hated Kenny for a few seconds. "She's fine," Stan said, gesturing to her. "Look at her."

"She wasn't fine a few minutes ago," Kenny retorted.

"Kenny, it wasn't Stan's fault." Kenny started to say something but Kyla gave his chest a shove. "Come on. You know it wasn't. If you wanna point fingers, bring 'em here." She pointed to her face.

Kenny growled obscenities as he retreated, mumbling something about going to class. That was bullshit; Kenny rarely bothered to go to class anymore.

By then the crowd of witnesses had pretty much dispersed. Kyla and Stan were practically alone in the hallway. Kyla looked around, a little surprised a teacher hadn't come storming in during the little squabble. Then she looked at Stan. His mouth was twisted to one side as he bit the inside of his cheek, looking at her.

"Where's Wendy?" she asked, just for something to say. She was scared that saying the bitch's name would make her appear.

"Went to class, after I shook her off my arm," Stan explained. The comment wasn't accompanied by the usual eye-roll or scoff. In fact, he looked thoughtful as he spoke of his girlfriend. Like he actually cared about her all of a sudden.

Kyla shuffled her feet, raking her brain for something intelligent to say. This was stupid. Since when did she have nothing to say to Stan? "You didn't call me last night," she said stupidly, biting her lip.

He started, as if he had forgotten she was there. "Oh. Yeah. Was I supposed to call you?"

"No. I don't know. I thought you might." Stupid. Stupid, _stupid. _Kyla should have just said good-bye and skipped off to class, but she found herself reluctant to leave Stan's presence.

Stan nodded as if her reply made perfect sense. He wasn't paying attention. Off in his own world...

"Wanna cut?" Kyla asked. The question had formed out of thin air, and before she could stop it it was out there.

Stan looked up, bemused. "Kyla Broflovski cutting class? Never thought I'd see the day."

"I have P.E.," Kyla explained, waving the stupid class off. "Let's go skating or something."

Stan kept on chewing on his cheek, contemplating the offer. It was tempting. Kyla watched as he mulled it over, unconsciously tapping her foot. Stan shook his head slowly and stuffed his hands in his jeans' pockets. "I can't. I'm meeting Wendy at lunch."

Kyla's heart sank. "After lunch?"

He laughed. "I've got a spare after lunch; I'm gonna go down to watch Wendy's volleyball game."

Wendy Wendy Wendy Wendy Wendy WENDY!

Kyla clenched and unclenched her teeth, wondering what to do. Why did she have this sudden urge—need—to hang out with Stan? She'd survived before, when he spent all his time with Wendy. But this week she'd grown used to his after school visits and weekend outings. She'd thought she'd won back his friendship. But something must have happened with Wendy; she must have yelled at him or something. Now he was probably feeling like a bad boyfriend and ditching me to make it up to her.

Kyla huffed and shrugged, trying to make it seem like his abandonment didn't matter. "Oh. Okay. Well, I'll see you later, I guess."

"Yeah." He was going to bite his cheek off the way he was gnawing at it. "See ya."

"Bye."

Neither of them moved.

"Maybe—"

"Yeah."

Silence.

"I'll just—"

"—go." They both said this at the same time.

Stan's eyes shone. That smirk was back. "You dropped your books," he pointed out without looking at the mess on the floor.

Kyla blushed and dropped to her knees. Stan remained where he was, watching her gather her things and shove them into her bag. She straightened and her lips formed a tight line when she realized he hadn't moved. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" There was no one in the hall. Class had started ten minutes ago.

He shrugged.

She bit her own lip and shuffled her feet, reluctant to move away. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with _him? _

"Do you want to talk?" she asked quietly.

His eyes widened slightly, and then he nodded slowly.

She sighed and passed by him, heading for the door. "Come on, then. Let's talk."

He followed her outside, where the wind was stirring up the fresh layer of snow in violent gusts. Kyla's curls went wild, bloody locks against the white background of the school grounds. Stan's bangs were blasted from his face, his scarf flapping behind him as they moved for the cover of the huge oak tree by the gym.

"So?" Kyla asked, waiting for him to start talking. "What do you want to talk about?"

"It's not a talk," he whispered, not meeting her eyes. "It's a confession."

"Hit me with it."

"It might upset you."

"Why?"

"It might."

"Well, whatever. Bring it."

"I slept with Wendy."

Kyla felt as if he'd slapped her. Too late, she realized she probably looked it, too. Stan's face fell when he looked at her, his mouth tight as if he wished he hadn't told her. She shook her head and plastered a smile onto her face, reaching out to clap him on the back. "Well, well, well," she said as enthusiastically as she could muster. "It's about time, dude! When?"

"Saturday night," Stan said, as he exhaled quickly, his tense expression turning to one of relief. "It just sorta...happened."

Kyla laughed once and toed at the ground. Snow was beginning to fall in light, clumpy flakes, turning the deserted schoolyard into a glittering wonderland. It was quiet as they stood there together; the snow absorbed any ambient noise from the road beyond the schoolyard.

A year and a half was a long time. Kyla kept forgetting they'd been dating all this time. Sex was bound to happen at some point. Stan had been putting it off. Kyla wondered what had triggered the testosterone so suddenly, but decided she didn't want to know. A week ago she would have been all over him, poking and prodding and begging to know all the gory details. But now...everything seemed different, somehow.

"I don't regret it," Stan said after several minutes of deafening silence. "Not really. I'm just...I don't know. I don't feel any...different about her, or anything romantic like that, but I feel like now I have to...be with her more. You know? Spend more time with her. Be a good boyfriend. If I started distancing myself now...she'd get the wrong idea. You know what I mean?"

Kyla nodded, shivering slightly. She bunched her hands in her pockets and shrunk into the collar of her jacket. A red curl was touching her cheek continuously as the breeze carried it along. It was annoying, but she ignored it, and focused on the matter in front of her.

So Stan was no longer a virgin. Wow. She remembered back in fifth grade, when it had just been Kyla, Stan, Cartman and Kenny—no Wendy, no romance—the four of them had placed bets on who would lose their virginity first. Of course, Kenny had been first—they'd been right about that. Next would be Stan—right again. Third would be Cartman. She scowled. How pathetic it was that they'd all thought that fat ass would lose it before Kyla would. Was it just because of her religion, or was it...something more? Was she not sexually appealing? Okay, stupid question. All she had to do was say the word and Kenny would have her in bed in five seconds flat. She guessed that back then they'd all known each-other so well that they knew how she'd feel about it.

Anyway, there was still time to win her bet and lose it before Cartman. Who had ever said Cartman wasn't a virgin? They guy had never had anything close to a girlfriend.

She shook herself of the unpleasant thoughts and faced reality. It seemed like Stan was waiting for her to say something, so she just said, lamely, "Yeah, I see what you mean." Then she remembered what he'd said, and her face fell slowly.

Stan took a deep breath, finally getting to what he needed to say. "So I guess...what I'm trying to say is..." He looked her in the eye, and she saw just how much this pained him. "We can't hang out anymore."

Kyla opened her mouth, but words escaped her.

Stan continued breathlessly. "I talked to Wendy. I _tried _to get her to understand about us—but Kyla, I'm sorry. She just...she's been really upset with me lately, and I can understand why. I've been neglecting her." He buried his hands deeper in his pockets. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "I really enjoyed spending time with you again, Ky. I missed it. I really did." She met his gaze and smiled softly. He returned it. "It was like the good old days again. Just you and me. And Kenny and Cartman, of course. And I promise, Ky...first opportunity I get to call you up, I will." He paused and then sighed roughly, kicking at the snow. "This is actually killing me."

"Stan." She put a hand on his arm. He froze. She spoke slowly and clearly, even though her insides were far from calm. "I can't do this anymore."

He looked at her, his eyes wide.

She continued firmly. "You're in a—serious relationship now, with Wendy. And Kenny and I...we're getting there. Maybe it's about time we realize...we _accept_..." _Come on, Ky. Keep it together. _"We're drifting apart, Stan." His mouth puckered as he dropped his gaze, shuffling his feet. She removed her hand from his arm, dropping it to her side dejectedly. "You know we are. We have been for a while. We're not kids anymore, Stan. It's not as easy as it used to be between us. Our genders, now, seem to matter more than it ever did before."

Stan's lip trembled. Kyla put a hand on his shoulder. "Stan?"

He shrugged her off and shuffled away, his shoulders hunched. She stood, frozen, watching him go. Then she ran after him, grabbing for his hand. "Stan."

He stopped, waiting.

"I wish..." _For what? Fairness? Life doesn't come with that package, darling._ "I wish it wasn't like this, Stan."

"I made a mistake, Ky," Stan said softly. "I'm sorry." He stepped out from her grip and walked away.

And this time, she let him go.

* * *

**Ah, there. That's much better. See, the other way I had it was just silly. It was OOC, is was OTT (over the top), and didn't leave enough room for the next chapter. Sorry for the rewrite, but I was losing sleep over it lol.**

**Please review!**

**See ya in 2010!!!!**


	8. Drunk On The Music, High On You

**Happy New Year!! I can't believe it's 2010 already. I resolve to finish this story to the best of my ability!!**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**2 months later**

"Kyla! Hurry up; we're going to be late!"

Kyla hastily put on the last earring, rushing for all she was worth. She swore when she dropped the back into the sink; she just barely grabbed it before it could go spinning down the drain. She shoved the back on and looked at herself in the tiny bathroom mirror. She tucked a loose red curl behind her ear and checked her make-up for any imperfections. Her black sequined cocktail dress sparkled even in the hideous fluorescent lighting. It didn't even reach her knees and she felt sexy and daring showing that much skin. Deciding she'd done all the primping she could and she looked as good as she ever would, she grabbed her shoes off the floor and dashed for the door, flicking off the light as she went.

Kenny's eyes travelled up and down her body appreciatively as she came down the stairs. He looked sexy in his dark wash jeans, light blue button up shirt and black blazer. He had put some sort of product in his hair so that it looked carelessly dishevelled. The blond locks gleamed gold in the hall light. Kyla recognized the blazer as Craig's, but she didn't comment: Kenny looked hot, and that was all that mattered.

He took her hand and helped her down the last few steps, then twirled her around, looking at the back of her dress as well. Her red curls bounced round her shoulders in healthy ringlets; she felt like a princess. A sexy, shiny one.

"You look amazing," Kenny said, kissing her gently.

"You look quite handsome yourself," Kyla said, playfully hitting his chest. "Hot stuff."

He chuckled and took her shoes from her: strappy silver heels. He got down on one knee to put the shoes on for her. She cocked her brow but played along, sticking out her leg to make it easier for him.

When he was done he handed her her coat and practically dragged her out the door by her hand. She squealed as the flimsy heels slipped and slid on the ice. Kenny, always the impatient one, lifted her up and carried her down the driveway and to his waiting Jeep.

It was a short car ride, and soon they were mulling over a place to park. They ended up being forced to park two blocks from Token's house.

They met up with several people on the way there: Craig and Clyde, who were already buzzed, both slapped Kenny's butt in greeting. Kyla stiffened when Wendy and Bebe joined the group along with Stan, Butters and Tweek. Stan either didn't see Kyla or was ignoring her because he walked right by her, laughing at some stupid thing that Craig was doing. She couldn't help but notice how good he looked. He was dressed similarly to Kenny, but Stan pulled the look off way better. His black hair was shaggy and dishevelled as usual, his jaw clean shaven.

Wendy's outfit, however, put Kyla's sparkly sack to shame. Her dress was black, tight, and _short_. It came halfway down her thighs in a flowy skirt. There was a blue sash accenting her tiny waist and a plunging neckline revealed more cleavage than Kyla could ever hope to have. Her dark hair was swept up in a high ponytail; her kohl-rimmed eyes looked sexy and dusky in the night, like she was its child. Wendy wasn't as skinny as Kyla, but she had curves, and boobs, which was what really counted anyway.

Kyla tried not to feel too depressed as she shuffled along with Kenny, clinging to his arm to keep from slipping. Her boyfriend was keeping a lively conversation with some kid Kyla didn't even know. It was strange seeing unfamiliar faces in South Park, but she didn't bother introducing herself. She was seething with some emotion she couldn't name.

Token's house was decked out just like a real rave: music pulsed beneath their feet before they even reached the front gate. Kyla could see the multicoloured lights flashing in the windows of the mansion. The fountain in the center of the courtyard was spewing coloured water in a bubbling melody. The crowd whooped and hollered, scrambling through the gates and across the yard in merriment. Kyla allowed Kenny to pull her along at a quick pace, swinging their clasped hands. She shook the dark feelings out of her mind, banishing them, forcing herself to have fun tonight. It was a goddamn _rave, _in a big mansion, too! It was going to be sweet.

"Broflovski!" someone yelled almost as soon as Kyla entered the huge house. Cartman melted from the shadows, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Kyla sighed exasperatedly as Kenny removed her coat. "Hey, Cartman."

He stopped her as she tried to pass. His face bore the most hideous sneer. "Lemme get you a drink, Broflov," he said, his words slurring drunkenly.

She stared at him disdainfully. "I can get my own, thanks."

"No, really," Cartman said, his grip firm on her arm. "I feel bad about that thing befo'....lemme buy you a drink."

"Cartman, that was two months ago," Kyla said exasperatedly, shaking out of his grasp. "And the drinks are free here."

She stalked away from him and searched for Kenny, who had already disappeared.

The party had barely started, but already there were the beginnings of a hot mess. People were scattered everywhere, almost all of them with some form of booze in their hands. The music was blasting obnoxiously from an enormous sound system on the side of the impressive dance floor, where a few couples were already grinding against each-other.

Kyla turned away from the dance floor and headed for the kitchen, figuring that was where the refreshments would be, and, evidently, Kenny. Several people greeted her on the way; when you grow up in a small town like South Park, everyone knows everyone.

"Hey, there, Kyla," said Butters as she finally found the kitchen. There was a group of boys clustered around the counter; Kenny was among them. They were yelling and cheering about something.

Butters approached her with a pleasant, sober smile.

"Hi," she said, smiling back. "Just fetching my boyfriend," she added, gesturing to Kenny's turned back.

"Ooh, he'll be a while," Butters stammered, looking at the group of boys mournfully. "They're playing a drinking game, they are."

"Already?" Kyla rolled her eyes. Unbelievable.

She approached the group of boys and tapped Kenny on the shoulder. He turned, a big, stupid smile on his face. His eyes gleamed with mirth. "Oh, hey, baby!" he cried, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into the circle. "Care to join us?"

"No thanks," Kyla said quickly, blushing. "I'll just...watch, I guess." She really didn't want to, but she had to babysit her stupid boyfriend.

She was surprised to find Stan within the cluster of idiots: he was directly opposite her, dealing cards, his handsome face lit up by an excited smile. It was as if he was inside, playing cards in Token's kitchen, and she was outside, in the snow, looking at him through a frosted window. Was she that invisible? Or maybe she was to him like he was to her. They ignored each-other, but they were both hyper-aware about what the other was doing, where they were, who they were with, all the time. It was a sick, stupid game, and Kyla was getting tired of playing it.

After about an hour of watching the boys drink their weight in whatever it is they were drinking, Kyla wandered out of the kitchen, deciding anybody's company was better than Kenny's right then.

Anybody's except Eric Cartman's.

"Lost yer boyfriend, Jew?" the stocky asshole asked snidely as he came up behind her.

She turned to him, rolling her eyes. "What do you want, Cartman?"

"Well, I _was _wondering if you wanted to hang, but you're in a mean mood tonight, Jew." He hiccupped on the last word and Kyla burst out laughing. He scowled. "Ay! Not funny!"

"You're right," Kyla said, composing herself. "It's not funny. It's hilarious." She began to laugh again.

Anyone who knew anything would know that pissing off Eric Cartman when he was buzzed was a bad idea. Cartman was an angry drunk. Kyla had often been able to get away with it because they'd known each-other for so long (and she was a girl...although that didn't really seem to matter anymore), but now...

Kyla dove out of the range of Cartman's fist, hitting a stack of CDs that promptly fell to the floor with a loud _CRASH!_

Kyla cried out as pain licked at her forearm. She pulled it out from underneath her to check the damage. One of the CD's jewel cases had broken, and a piece of plastic was lodged in her skin. She moaned and yanked it out, hissing as pain shot up the length of her arm. Blood began to well in clusters as the wound opened.

"Look what you did!" Kyla cried, glaring up at Cartman. "I'm bleeding."

"Oh, boo-hoo! Poor little Jewish girl!" Cartman whined sarcastically. He crouched down to her level, grunting with the effort. "I've had enough of yer bullshit, Kahla. I tried to be nice."

"You don't know what nice is, Cartman!" Kyla shrieked. She pulled herself to her feet and began collecting the CDs. It was useless since there were at least a hundred of them, but it felt better to occupy herself and hide her blazing cheeks and wet eyes at the same time.

She didn't realize that somebody was helping her until someone picked up the CD she was just about to pick up. She looked up into the violet eyes of...

Wendy.

She smiled weakly and handed the CD to Kyla. "Hey, Kyla."

"Hi." Kyla went back to cleaning up the mess. Cartman had wandered away at some point; she really could care less if he got hit by a truck by that point.

"Do you need some help? I saw what happened." Wendy was already "helping" her, but she obviously was just looking for something to say.

Everybody knew that Kyla didn't like Wendy. She never had. Even before Stan had started officially dating her, Kyla hadn't liked Wendy. She was just...perfect. She was smart and had good grades in school, she was good at sports, she could sing and play the piano, she was good at art and always donated to charities and did community volunteer work...the problem was, you couldn't really _hate _her because she was so damn nice. It was like she had no other emotion than pleasant. Like a mother fucking robot.

Kyla sighed. "I got it. Thanks."

Wendy stiffened, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes searched Kyla's face, but the redhead was focusing on gathering up the shards of plastic from the floor. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "You don't like me."

Kyla froze this time.

"I know you don't like me." Wendy was looking at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I can understand why you don't like me. But Kyla...I was hoping that we could, maybe, be friends. I mean, you and Stan are such good friends, and since we're both a part of his life, I think it's important that he doesn't feel pressured to choose between us."

Oh. So this was about _Stan. _No, it wasn't even about him. It was about Wendy looking good in front of him. Trying to be nice to his friends to gain his respect. It wasn't going to work. Not on Kyla Broflovski.

Still...it would be nice to spend time with Stan again.

"Well." Kyla shrugged. "Stan and I talked a while ago and decided we shouldn't hang out anymore. He's got you, I've got Kenny."

"But that doesn't mean that you guys shouldn't hang out," Wendy protested. "Look. You mean a lot to Stan. I know. He talks about you all the time." She looked at her hands again. "It bugged me at first. I thought I was losing him. But then I realized...you guys are best friends. And who am I to ruin that?"

Kyla raised her eyebrow at the raven-haired girl. "Are you drunk?"

"A little!" She let out a peal of obnoxious giggles, covering her mouth with her hand.

Kyla made a sort of exasperated scoffing noise and pushed to her feet, walking away from the stupid girl. She went back into the kitchen, hoping to find Kenny, but to her dismay the boys had all cleared out. There was only one left, and he was the only one she _didn't _want to see.

Stan.

She considered just turning and leaving—he had his back to her and hadn't seen her yet—but instead she decided he was probably drunk and wouldn't care if she broke the "rules". She went right up and tapped him on the shoulder.

When he turned his eyebrows were so high on his forehead they disappeared behind his bangs. He stared at Kyla for a few moments before it registered that it was her. Then his face lit up in a brilliant smile. "Kyla! Hey!" He still looked surprised. "Didn't expect to see you here!" He grimaced. "But then, why wouldn't you be here? Kenny's here! Of course Kenny's here! It's the mother fucking party of the year!" He hiccupped and took another sip of beer.

Kyla groaned. "Not you too."

"Not me too what?" he asked, grinning like a fool.

"Everyone's drunk." Kyla pulled herself up onto the counter. "Why can't anyone just get through one party just being natural? It's so much better than this hot mess we're creating here."

He shrugged. "It's a party, Ky. People drink at parties."

"You used to be as against illegal drinking as I am," Kyla snapped. "What happened to you?"

"Realized how stupid it was," Stan said, shrugging again and taking another swig of beer. He looked up at her with innocent eyes as she fumed. "Hey, you look hot."

"I'm fine," Kyla said stupidly. Like it could be cold in a house packed with sweaty bodies.

Stan grinned wickedly. "You're cute. I meant you look sexy, dumbass."

Kyla rolled her eyes, but that didn't stop her cheeks from turning pink. "Thanks," she murmured. She searched for something to say that wouldn't sound retarded to a drunk person. "Who the hell is the DJ here, anyway?" she asked, gesturing to the music thumping through the speakers. "This song has got to be five years old! And it's not even a classic."

"Sounds the same as all the other shit to me," Stan chimed. He leaned back against her dangling legs and she barely suppressed a gasp. "This is one hot party, though."

"Yeah, one helluva turnout," Kyla said sarcastically, trying to ignore the ugly feeling in her gut. She looked around the empty kitchen.

Stan didn't catch the joke. "I'm glad you came," he said, leaning his head back so that he was looking at her. The top of his head was pressed against her boobs. She considered pushing him away, but decided he would only topple onto his face if she did. "I was hoping you would. Haven't seen you in forever, man. I missed you."

She made a small noise and encouragement and looked away from him. Stan was one hell of a pussy when he was drunk. He said things he wouldn't dare say sober. It was almost nice, being able to talk to him and for once getting an honest answer from him.

"You buzzed?" he asked suddenly, still looking back at her.

She frowned. "No, stupid. I don't drink."

"Aw, yeah. Diabetic." He took another swig of his beer, only to find the bottle empty. "Damn."

"Here." She slid off the counter and went to the fridge, emerging with a bottle of water.

"I don't want water," he protested, holding his hands out in front of him.

She held it out. "Come on, Stan. Sober up. I don't wanna be around you when you're not really you."

He reluctantly took the bottle and took a few gulps, making small "Ah" noises between sips. "You know, water isn't so bad."

Kyla laughed humourlessly and watched him, making sure he drank every last drop of water. "There. Feel better?"

He grinned at her. "I only had two bottles of beer, Ky. Calm down. I wasn't about to puke on your nice dress," he added with a wink.

"Stanley Marsh, I do believe you are flirting with me," Kyla teased, giving his chest a push. "I think you've had more than two bottles of beer."

His grin turned to a wolfish sneer as he took a step towards her. "Maybe I'm serious."

Kyla's eyes widened and she stepped out from under him, heading for the door. "Fuck this. I can't be around you when you're like this."

She was glad when Stan didn't follow her.

*

She found Kenny on the edges of the dance floor, talking to Craig about something that seemed stupid. The stupid DJ had finally put on a good song, some thrilling rave number that just made Kyla want to _dance. _She grabbed Kenny's beer from his hand, put down on the nearest flat surface, and pulled him out onto the dance floor, ignoring the catcalls of his buddies. He looked down at her with that same drunken grin Stan had given her earlier as he wrapped his arms around her, his hands straying dangerously close to her butt.

"Hey, beautiful," he growled in her ear.

She giggled and snuggled in closer to him as they began to bump and grind to the beat.

Here, away from prying teachers and bad school fluorescents, the teenagers of South Park felt free to just let loose with their moves. Kyla swore she saw a couple of kids actually having sex in a corner, but she couldn't be sure. People all around them were making out, some of them in totally random couples, like Tweek and Clyde, who were fornicating on the love seat. There was a three way kiss going on somewhere.

Kyla forced herself to focus only on Kenny and on dancing the best she could. She had never been the most remarkable dancer, but this was hardly dancing. They were just rutting their pelvises together to the beat. Now she knew where the term "sex on the dance floor" came from. She was reminded of the staff quarters in _Dirty Dancing. _

It was halfway through the next song before she saw Stan. He and Wendy were getting their grind on similarly to the way Kyla and Kenny were, but a hundred times more inappropriately. They might as well have been having sex. Again. Kyla grit her teeth and turned Kenny around so that she had her back to them.

They eventually got back into her line of vision, however, and Kyla caught Stan's eye over Wendy's shoulder. She saw the heated passion in his eyes, his bangs clinging to his forehead with sweat. Without really thinking, she brought her arm around Kenny's shoulder and put her finger in her mouth, pulling her bottom lip down sensually. Stan's eyes widened slightly, but then he grinned, mouthing, "Atta girl!"

Kyla smiled back devilishly, and then decided to put on a show for her ex-best-friend and his whore of a girlfriend.

She turned Kenny to the side so that Stan could see better, and then slowly began working her way down Kenny's body, dragging her hands down his chest. She heard Kenny's breath hitch as she tossed her head back and slithered back up, rubbing her body up against his erection, throbbing through his jeans.

"Jesus, Ky," he panted, looking down at her with fervour. "That was _so_ hot."

She grinned at him and then snuck a peak in Stan's direction. He was staring at her, his mouth slightly agape. Wendy was oblivious as she continued to ride him. Kyla smiled at him sweetly and then turned her back on him, preparing for her next act.

Kyla had taken a beginner's pole dancing class with her Aunt Lucy when she had come to visit for two weeks the previous summer. Kyla had been reluctant to take the class, but now was glad she had. It was time to show off her skills, and Stan was here to witness them. After all, Kyla could be extremely sexy if she wanted to. She had discovered that in the pole dancing class, and then again when she'd taken a girls' hip hop class in the fall and had landed the lead in a suggestive piece set to Nelly Furtado's _Promiscuous. _

She wrapped one arm around Kenny's neck and let the other hang behind her as she swung her torso in a circle before him, turning them around with the speed she got. He was grinning at her disbelievingly. He obviously had never expected this from his mousy little Jewish girlfriend.

She felt Stan's gaze on her but didn't meet it again, relishing in the fact that he was mesmerized by her. She did the worming thing down Kenny's body again, this time letting her hand graze his hard-on, issuing a moan from his lips. She spun around and came up backwards, so that her back was against his chest. Poor Kenny. A mere puppet in her show for Stan.

Wait.

What the hell?

Kyla suddenly felt sick.

She pushed away from Kenny, claiming she needed a bathroom break (he replied with a breathy "_You _need a bathroom break!?") and fled to the balcony adjoining the kitchen, gulping down fresh air. The cold air blasted away the sweat that coated her entire body; her curls had fallen and were hanging in limp waves over her shoulders.

She felt dirty and gross and perverted. What the hell had possessed her back there? Why was she trying to turn Stan on like that? Why was she making a slutty fool of herself? There goes her nice, respectable reputation. People would be talking about her wild behaviour for weeks. And how the hell was that going to help his uncontrollable testosterone situation? How dare she point-blank refuse to sleep with him and then pull crap like that? Why was she being so unfair to him?

She leaned against the railing, gulping in air, trying to regain the mind she had obviously lost. She jumped when she felt a presence behind her.

"Well, well, well," Stan tittered, coming up to lean against the railing next to her. "I gotta admit, you got moves Broflovski. You're like a little sexbomb in disguise." He looked sideways at her questioningly. "The question is...why the disguise?"

"What I just did was disgusting," Kyle snapped. "I don't know what came over me and I won't do it again."

"Won't do it again?" he replied incredulously. "Ky, that was the most tastefully hot thing I have ever seen!"

"Tasteful? How the hell was _that_ tasteful?"

"Because you're sexy without trying to be. You don't need to dress like a slut to be appealing. You're actually a decent dancer. And you rocked that dance floor, man; everyone was staring at you because you just screamed self-confidence. That's what's so attractive about you. Believe me, Ky. I would tell you if it was over the top, and it wasn't. It was the sexiest thing I have ever seen." He grinned and patted her on the back. "You're the sexiest thing I have ever seen."

Kyla looked at him quickly, her eyebrows raised. He had the same expression, as if he couldn't believe he'd said it either.

"Well," she said with a sigh. "It was all for you, anyway, so I guess it worked."

_Oh, dear, God. Did I just say that?_

She bit her lip. Oh, well. She guessed that she wasn't herself tonight anyway.

"All for me?" he asked with a chuckle. "Kenny was the one who ran off to clean up his pants!"

Kyla giggled, blushing. "I wanted to impress you."

"Well, mission accomplished." He looked at her thoughtfully.

Kyla changed the subject. "Where's Wendy?"

He rolled his eyes. "Too many shots of tequila," he explained. "I got Butters to take her home."

"Why didn't you take her home?" Kyla asked.

"I don't have a car," he said, shrugging. "And I didn't want to leave because she has no tolerance."

"You're quite sober," Kyla remarked, looking at his composed face.

He met her gaze steadily. "I haven't had any more booze. That water hit the spot."

She laughed.

There was a comfortable silence in which the two of them looked out at the night sky and thought about things. Kyla snuck looks at Stan every few minutes. He seemed perfectly at ease out here alone with her. It was like the good old days, before all the drama with the boyfriends and girlfriends had gotten in the way.

"Stan?" Kyla said softly.

"Hmm?" he replied.

"Can we be best friends again?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. His hands clutched at the railing as if he were about to fall off the balcony.

"What's wrong?" Kyla asked.

"I don't think we can, Ky," he replied quietly.

Kyla bit her lip as her eyebrows arched. "Why not?"

"I can't, Ky." He looked at her, a sad expression on his face.

"But I spoke to Wendy earlier," Kyla protested. "Even she thought this whole thing is stupid. She wants us to start hanging out again, Stan, and I think we should too!" She dropped her voice to just above a whisper. "I miss you."

"Oh, God. I miss you too." He looked away from her, out at the snow. "But I can't, Ky. It's just not enough anymore."

"What's not enough?" Kyla demanded, confused.

"Being your friend," he answered tightly.

She gaped at him, and then became angry. "Not enough? My friendship isn't enough for you?"

He shook his head sadly. "No, Ky. I can't stand to just be your friend anymore." He looked at her and his eyes were wet. "It's not enough."

"But Wendy said—"

"Wendy never said anything," Stan snapped. "I made up all that crap about not being able to hang out with you because I couldn't stand being around you and Kenny anymore. It just...hurt too much. Seeing you with another guy. I couldn't take it. So I stopped hanging out with you altogether." He looked away again. "But it didn't work. I still couldn't stop thinking about you. And it hurt like hell all the same. It was almost better watching you two, because then at least I knew what you were doing. I lost sleep thinking about it."

Kyla was gaping at him, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide. She couldn't believe her ears. "A-are you saying—"

"I'm basically telling you that I'm in love with you, Kyla," Stan finished quietly. "Always have been. Always will be. And I hated Kenny for having everything I couldn't have and I hated you for not seeing how perfect we would be together and I hated myself for not telling you sooner."

Blood was rushing past Kyla's ears in a deafening roar. She felt her breathing escalate impossibly fast. Before Stan could say anything more, she turned and fled from the balcony.

* * *

**Wow-wee! Was that chapter ever long! That was 4,561 words right there! That's 11 pages on Word! Holy crap! I just kept on going without realizing how long it was!**

**Well, that was probably the best chapter of them all so far. I really enjoyed writing it. Especially Kyla's sexy dance because it was sexy. :-) lol**

**Please review!**

**I need to rest my fingers now.**


	9. I Ain't Gonna Lose More Sleep Over This

**I've been thinking about this chapter for a while now; finally I'm doing something about it! Thanks for all the fantastic reviews everyone!**

* * *

Stan wandered through the party aimlessly, another bottle of water in his hand, waiting for someone to offer him a ride home. Goddamn, he needed his own car. He was sick of bumming rides all the time. Especially when everyone was drunk, and the one person that wasn't ran away every time he approached her.

Oh, Stan, what have you done?

He was glad he'd told her. He just hadn't been expecting that reaction. It wasn't really an answer to anything. It wasn't as if she was saying "No, Stan, I only see you as a friend and we'll never be anything more". But she wasn't exactly throwing herself at him crying passionately, "Oh! Stan! I love you too! I have always loved you but didn't want to ruin our beautiful friendship! Oh, kiss me, you handsome devil!"

Stan smiled. Okay, even if the feeling was mutual she wouldn't say that.

So what exactly _had_ he been expecting?

He had been expecting her to lightly bite her lip and look up at him with those doe eyes. Maybe she would nod and would remain silent for a few moments while she contemplated everything. Then, slowly, she would turn and wrap her arms around him, holding close for a hug. And that would have spoken volumes, because he would know that no matter whether or not she was in love with him in return, she still cared deeply about him, and loved him the way a best friend should.

That was what he had been expecting.

He hadn't thought she would run away from him. What exactly did that mean?

Oh, well. He really didn't want to think about this right now. He might start crying, and a dude doesn't just start crying at a party.

He was hanging out with Clyde and Bebe when he spotted Butters on the other side of the room, talking with Token and some other kid Stan didn't recognize. He got up from the sofa and sauntered over, pulling Butters aside without excusing him.

"Aren't you supposed to be taking Wendy home?" Stan demanded, his eyes flashing.

Butters' eyes went wide and round as he began to stammer and spit. "Well, I was going to, Stan, but Kenny said he'd take her home and I said that Stan had told me to do it 'cause I was sober but he insisted and said he'd chop my wiener off if I didn't back off!" He covered his face with his hands. "Please don't be mad, Stan, but I really like my wiener and I didn't want him to chop it off!"

"Kenny took her home!" Stan exclaimed. "What the fuck? Is he back yet?"

"Well, I don't know," Butters wailed. "But I told Kyla I'd give her a ride home since Kenny took his Jeep."

"I wouldn't want her driving with that drunken bastard anyway," Stan growled. "Well, I'll be needing a ride home too, then, Butters, since Craig is kinda wasted." He gestured to the black-haired boy who was passed out cold on the floor.

"Oh, sure, Stan!" Butters cried immediately. "It'll be fun! We can have like another sorta party in my car! You and me and Kyla! I'll go tell her!"

Stan caught his arm as he tried to run away. "Best not to tell her, Butters."

"Oh. Oh-okay!"

Stan loped away, scowling. Why had Kenny insisted on taking Wendy home? It just didn't make sense. Not to mention the son of a bitch was piss drunk and driving Stan's girlfriend around. What if they got in an accident? What if Wendy got hurt?

A small voice at the back of his head muttered, _Who cares if she did?_ But he banished it, disgusted. Whether or not Wendy was in the way of spending time with Kyla, he still cared somewhat about her. They'd been together for so long; it was like his job, now, to take care of her. How pathetic.

Oh, God. Where the _hell _was Wendy?

*

The atmosphere in Butters' car was so tense you could have cut it with a knife. Kyla was squished in the backseat next to Craig, who was still out cold and presently drooling. She looked out the window and didn't utter a sound the whole time. Butters was chatting away as if there was nothing odd going on; Stan sat next to him in the passenger's seat with his cheek against his fist. He kept sneaking glances towards the redhead in the back, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. His heart sank with every passing second that she didn't respond. What had he done?

They dropped Craig off first; Butters and Stan had to carry him to the front door and deal with Craig's shrieking mother. They ran back to the car as fast as they could, and drove off before Craig's father could come down with his shot gun. Even after all the excitement, Kyla still didn't speak. Was there something wrong with her? Oh, yeah. She was probably still dealing with the turmoil of learning that her stupid best friend was in love with her.

When they pulled up in front of the Broflovski household Kyla scrambled out of the car as if it were on fire. Stan got out, too, and walked her to her front door.

"Ky...about what I said earlier—"

"I need some time to think," Kyla interrupted without meeting his gaze. "Just leave me alone, Stan." She went inside and closed the door behind her without another word.

Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets and returned to his car sullenly, his face twisted in a pained expression. _I need time to think. Just leave me alone, Stan. Just leave me alone._

When he got home he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it had the answers to the universe. Now what was he going to do? He'd scared Kyla away. She wanted him to leave her alone.

A dull throbbing started in his chest; he groaned and flopped over onto his stomach, stuffing his face into his pillow till he couldn't breathe. Then he looked sideways out the window. The moon was hidden behind some wispy clouds. The silvery glow fingered through his blinds and into his room. Snow was quietly falling again. His ears rang from the loud music at the party and his head hurt already. Sleep remained out of his reach as he tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. He couldn't get ugly thoughts out of his mind. You know when you're feeling really down and keep thinking things like "nobody likes you" and "I'm stupid"? It was like that only ten times worse.

Finally, at five o'clock in the morning, Stan Marsh fell asleep. But his dreamland was even more hellish than his reality.

*

_!!!!!_

That's pretty much all Kyla has to say.

*

If possible, the weeks that followed Token's party were even worse than the previous two months for Stan and Kyla. While Stan tried his hardest to speak to Ky where the opportunity arose, she promptly wormed her way out of a real conversation. Sometimes she just flat out ignored him. It hurt Stan, but by God, it hurt Kyla more.

She had tried so hard to focus on her life the way it was and not think about how it should be or could be or would be if she had this, that or the other. She'd managed to keep a clear head and a sensible state of mind for years and years and years. Even when Stan's smile began to tug at her heartstrings, she had ignored it and focused on Kenny because that was the way her life was right now. She couldn't change Stan's feelings about Wendy, or Kenny's feelings about Kyla, or Kyla's goddamn feelings about Kenny. She fucking loved Kenny. Honest to God. She loved him. She still got butterflies when he touched her.

She played these thoughts in her mind over and over again every day until she actually started believing them. Eventually all thoughts of Stan and his shocking confession were pushed completely out of the way to the back of her mind. Sometimes she managed to get through a whole day without thinking about him.

But the thoughts had to get out at some point, and they chose to get their two-cents in at night-time when she was lying in bed trying to sleep.

Her mother had insisted on taking to Kyla to the doctor when she passed out in gym class one day because she just _couldn't stand up anymore. _The doctor had diagnosed her with a minor case of insomnia and Kyla had spent several days in bed, knocked out cold by sleeping pills.

When she woke up, though, she felt refreshed and rejuvenated. She went to school with that hop in her step and the familiar twinkle in her eye. Instead of pushing away thoughts of Stan, she decided to face them. Her body sighed with relief and agreed that this was a much healthier way of living.

Kenny noticed the difference right away. He was overjoyed to learn that her insomnia was cured and insisted on buying her lunch to celebrate.

They were sitting in the cafeteria laughing at some joke that Kenny was telling her when Wendy came up to their table, a wary smile on her face. "Hi, Kyla. Kenny."

They both looked at her questioningly.

"Hey," Kenny said. Kyla remained silent.

Wendy's eyes lingered on Kenny for a moment before she turned to Kyla. "Hey, Kyla, I was just wondering if you wanted to come over after school today?"

Kyla blinked and then exchanged a look with Kenny. "Why?"

"To work on the History project," Wendy explained, handing Kyla a folder full of her notes. "We've got to put together our information on a poster."

Oh.

Kyla inhaled sharply, handing the folder back. "Yeah. About that."

"You haven't done anything yet, have you?"

"No." She had completely forgotten about it. Wendy had chosen Kyla as her partner for the big end-of-term history project, claiming she didn't really _know _anyone else in the class. Well, it wasn't like Wendy really _knew _Kyla, but whatever. "Sorry, I totally forgot."

"That's okay; I can help you when you come over."

Kyla raked her brain for an excuse. "Ike's got a baseball game after school," she said dumbly.

Wendy bit her lip. "In this weather?" She gestured to the windows, were a mini snow storm was billowing. "Come on, Kyla. We really need to work on this. It's due on Wednesday."

What day was it today? Monday? Damn it.

Kyla sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll meet you at my locker after school."

Wendy's smile seemed very forced as she said "Okay, see ya there," and flounced away to join Stan and Cartman at their table.

"Fuck." Kyla put her head down on the table. "I do _not _want to go to her house after school."

"Then don't," Kenny said simply, reaching over to steal one of Kyla's fries. "I can come over and help you with the project if you want."

"Kenny, you don't know shit about history," Kyla teased, smacking his hand away from her fries. "And lay off my fries, will you? There's none left for me!"

"What happened to 'fries are for fatties'?" Kenny mocked, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "I'm a growing boy."

"If you grow any more, your head will be through the roof." Kyla smacked his hand away again and stuck a fry in her mouth.

Kenny's eyes tilted towards the ceiling. "Well, if the distance between the floor and the ceiling is roughly seven feet, then I've got about...six more inches to go."

"You're six six?" said Kyla incredulously. "When the hell did you get so tall?"

"Well, it all started in seventh grade..." Kenny grinned and grabbed another fry when Kyla wasn't looking.

"Goddamn."

"You're swearing a lot."

"I've picked up the habit." Kyla hung her head in shame. "I'm tired of being the good little Jewish girl."

"No kidding," Kenny laughed. "People are still talking about your little dance at Token's party."

Kyla rolled her eyes. "I guess there's just nothing else to talk about in this town."

She caught sight of Stan and Wendy exiting the cafeteria. His hand was in her jeans' back pocket as they shared a sweet kiss. Kyla felt sick. "Ugh. I might barf."

Kenny cocked an eyebrow. Kyla nodded towards the couple on the other side of the cafeteria, who were now basically making out in the doorway. Kenny turned to look, and when he twisted round again he was rolling his eyes. "Well, at least they're finally acting like a couple."

Kyla felt her cheeks grow hot with annoyance as she looked down at her suddenly unappetizing meal. All those years of teasing had finally rubbed off on Stan...but she had no idea it would _hurt._

Her mouth popped open when Kenny snagged yet another fry, the last one in the tray. She went at him with her napkin, pelting him with the flimsy paper as she laughed manically.

"You owe me a plate of fries, McCormick!" Kyla shrieked.

Kenny only grinned at her. She scowled and then couldn't resist returning it. If there was one thing Kenny McCormick knew how to do, it was to make Kyla Broflovski smile.

* * *

**Short chapter, I know. But the last one was so long, so I was trying to balance it out.**

**Awe, we can start liking Kenny again. I realized that I was really starting to make him look like a douche! Poor Kenny. I love him! :-)**

**Please review!**


	10. This Right Here Is Proof There Is No God

**Okay people well school starts tomorrow and I am dreading it. I'll try my hardest to get chapters up as often as possible, but I can only be on the computer for two hours a day once school starts. I hope I can do it!! Thanks for all the reviews everybody: each one gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside!**

* * *

"Okay, so I'm thinking that we should use black paper as the background and then border the text with red, and oh! We need a creepy font for the title; we should go on Word and check out what they've got.... Okay so my stuff will go here and yours can go here, but we'll have to see how much you write.... Oh, look at that! My stuff fits perfectly! Awesome! Hand me the glue, please? Thanks. Okay...there! Perfect! What do you think, Kyla?"

Kyla pushed herself onto her elbows and peered at the poster. The typed paragraphs were spaced out evenly on the black poster board, framed with red construction paper. They fit perfectly in the space provided, as if Wendy had already tried it out and cut and pasted so that they all fit. "It looks good," Kyla murmured. She lowered her head back down to her arms.

The two girls were lying on the floor of Wendy's spacious bedroom. Wendy was busy cutting and pasting, humming a cheery tune with perky vibrato that pissed Kyla off. Kyla had her laptop propped open in front of her, but she couldn't bring herself to put her fingers to the keyboard. Her brain was fried. The day had been long and tiresome. She had expected her first day back to reality to be that way. She hadn't expected, however, to be stuck at her best friend's girlfriend's house writing some stupid report that was due two days from now.

The door swung open and Wendy's older sister, Tara, came barging in, eyes on the screen of her keyboard cell phone. "I got the stuff you needed," Tara called in, tossing a plastic bag at Wendy. "Make sure Mom doesn't see that shit, or she'll flip her lid." She closed the door.

Neither of the girls heard Tara's last comment. They were both staring at what had just spilled out of the bag.

A box.

A regular cardboard box.

A little pink cardboard box that contained a pregnancy test.

Wendy gasped and grabbed for it, shoving it back in the bag. Her cheeks were burning pink. She stuffed the bag under her bed and sat quietly, her hands in her lap. Neither girl said anything for a very, very long time.

Finally, Kyla let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Wendy," she said, looking at the other girl with wide eyes. "Are you..."

"I don't know!" Wendy cried suddenly, tears flooding her eyes. "Oh, I don't know! I've been throwing up every morning, but I'm not sure if it's just a flu or if I'm..." She trailed off as she tried to blink back her tears. She was silent for a moment while she composed herself, and then she said, quietly, "I'm gonna take it now. Will you...I mean...will you stay with me?"

Kyla felt like she was suffocating. Dying. She stared at the wall above Wendy's head, trying to find her brain, and thus her voice. "Of c-course..." she said slowly, bringing her eyes down to meet Wendy's.

"Oh, thank you, Kyla. You're the b-best." Wendy snatched up the plastic bag and charged into her private bathroom, closing the door behind her with a snap. Kyla could hear her sobbing from where she lay on the floor, frozen in horror.

No. _No. _No, no, no, no, no, _no, _NO! Wendy _couldn't _be pregnant! Because that meant she had slept with Stan again, _recently. _How long ago had that party been? Three weeks? It wasn't like Stan kept Kyla in the loop about his sex life anymore. Who knew how many times they'd done it since then? Stanley Marsh...father of Wendy Testaburger's child...never to be the same ever again. Ruined for good.

Kyla got up and rushed at Wendy's bed, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it against her face to muffle her screams. Tears bubbled up in her eyes so fast her retinas burned. _Oh, God, oh, God, oh GOD! PLEASE let it be a false alarm! PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU! Oh, Lord, if you're up there...make it be a false alarm. Please._

Her silent prayers felt stupid and useless, considering Kyla hadn't spoken to God in years. But she needed _someone _to talk to, even if that someone happened to be someone whose existence was constantly questioned, and even if that someone was a bitch sometimes.

Kyla suddenly tossed the pillow away in disgust. Wendy and Stan might have had _sex_ in this bed. She wanted nothing more than to leave this room, this house, this _town_...to just get the hell out of South Park and never come back. Go somewhere where all this crap wouldn't find her. Where thoughts of Stan wouldn't torture her and she wouldn't have to bear listening to their child laughing in their happy arms.

_Okay, Kyla, get a grip. You don't even know for sure if Wendy is pregnant. And if she is, she's such a slut it might not even be Stan's! Calm down, you stupid bitch. Calm the hell down!_

Kyla stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself so tightly she couldn't breathe properly.

God, how long did it take for that bitch to take a piss?

The door to the bathroom opened just as Kyla was thinking this and Wendy emerged, her face sticky with tears. She gave Kyla a watery smile and held up the pregnancy test. Kyla ran forth to look.

The single blue dash was the most beautiful thing Kyla had ever seen.

She let out a strangled sob and threw her arms around Wendy, who started to cry all over again. A thought struck Kyla as to why the hell she was hugging a girl she thought she hated, but she was too happy to care.

_Thank you, God. Thank you._

*

But, as it is, God can pick and choose when it comes to being an asshole or being a saint.

It was five in the morning when Kyla's phone buzzed. She groaned and rolled over, trying to ignore it. It kept buzzing and buzzing, as if whoever the hell was calling her _really _needed to talk to her. She rolled back over and reached for her phone, sighing sleepily. She opened it and put it to her ear. "Hello?" she asked in a horrible groggy voice.

"Kyla!" The voice on the other side of the line was frantic. "Kyla, oh my God..."

Kyla pushed herself up onto her elbows, frowning slightly. "Whoa, whoa. Who is this?"

"It's Wendy," the girl wailed.

"Wendy?" How the hell did she get Kyla's number? "What's going on?"

"I woke up half an hour ago to throw up," Wendy cried.

Kyla groaned. TMI. "So?"

"I freaked out and took the other pregnancy test—there were two in the box—and, oh my God, Kyla, it was positive!"

Kyla sat bolt upright in bed, smacking her head on the dorm ceiling. She cursed and rubbed the soon-to-be goose egg. Her heart was racing a thousand miles per hour. "What?"

"I don't know! It was negative the first time, I know it! Maybe I did something wrong the first time! But this time it said positive! It had the little pink cross on it! Oh, my God, Kyla! I'm fucking pregnant!" She began to sob uncontrollably. She kept saying things, but Kyla couldn't understand her when she was sobbing like that.

Kyla's heart sank into the pit of her stomach where it began to congeal.

_God, you fucking son of a bitch..._

"That doesn't make sense," Kyla said quickly. "How can you be not pregnant and then twelve hours later be pregnant? That's stupid."

Wendy kept on crying, and then abruptly stopped. "Oh."

"Oh, what? _What, _dammit!"

"Oh, Ky...you're gonna think I'm the stupidest idiot in the world, but...the first time I didn't take the plastic off of the pee stick."

She was right. Kyla did think Wendy was the stupidest idiot in the world. "Oh, my God, Wendy."

"Oh, I'm such a stupid moron! Oh, my God. I'm pregnant. My mom is going to kill me!" She began shrieking sobs again.

"Well, if you don't want her to find out, stop screaming," Kyla snapped. "What do you want me to do about this?"

Wendy hiccoughed. "I just needed to tell someone."

Kyla sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay. But I don't know what to say, Wendy. What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what to do!"

"You think I've been pregnant before? How am I supposed to know what to do?"

"I thought you _were_ pregnant!"

"_WHAT!_"

"Well I heard that you got pregnant with Kenny's kid and aborted it," Wendy said sheepishly.

Kyla exhaled sharply, her hands balling into fists. The rage made her see red, but she fought for control. "That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard. I've never been pregnant; I've never even had sex. _So whatdya want me to do_, Wendy!" The last bit was louder and harsher than she had intended, but the anger she felt towards whoever had started that rumour had taken over.

Wendy was sobbing all over again.

"Is it Stan's?" Kyla demanded slowly.

"What?"

"Is. It. Stan's!"

"I don't...know."

Kyla's breath hitched. "_What!" _she exclaimed for the third time that night. This was far worse, if possible, than finding out Stan was the father. So Wendy _was _a big whore. This was going to crush him. Maybe.

"Well, it c-can't be Stan's," Wendy moaned, as if realizing it for the first time. "We haven't had sex since...gosh, it's gotta have been three months now."

"Well, it's definitely not his if that's the case," Kyla said breathlessly. The pain in her heart was growing. But this time, the pain was for poor Stan. "Goddamn it, Wendy. I kind of hate you right now."

Wendy's sobs started again. Kyla sighed in exasperation, fighting back tears. The stupid bitch had _Stanley Marsh. _One of the kindest, sincerest souls in the world. She had _everything, _and she threw it all away. Threw Stan away as if he were just another bachelor. Oh, my God, that stupid, _stupid _cow. How could she do that to him? Kyla cried herself to sleep every night over that boy, and here was his girlfriend saying she'd slept with some other guy!

"Who's the father, Wendy?" Kyla spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Wendy hiccoughed, "I'm so sorry." And the line went dead.

Kyla cried harder than she ever had before.

* * *

**Two chapters in one day! Sorry it's so short! It wasn't even more than 2,000 words! But I wanted to get it up before school started, and that seemed like an appropriate place to stop.**

**To Anonymous By Choice: I'm not entirely sure if that comment was meant to be negative or not...Also, they were piss drunk. They're not really gonna be thinking about morals or anything. And, dude, I'm in high school, I know how the dances are WITHOUT alcohol...I can only IMAGINE what they're like with it! LOL**

**Please review, they are welcomed!**

**We will find out the real father soon enough. ;-)**


	11. It Really Isn't Healthy To Eavesdrop

**Well, this chapter is even more dramatic than the last one! I'm having trouble making it really long, though, so hopefully I'll reach my goal this time.**

* * *

Kyla Broflovski had a secret.

A secret heavier than any pregnant belly could be.

It bore down her shoulders like a physical weight, threatening to crush her at any moment. She only way to guarantee her safety was to tell someone that secret, but of course she couldn't do that. So she was forced to live with a big metal weight hanging over her head. Sooner or later it would fall, and she would break.

She was like Atlas, carrying the Earth on his back.

But she wouldn't tell a soul.

She'd promised Wendy.

She'd promised herself.

She couldn't bring herself to tell anyone.

That is, until Wendy phoned and told her who the father was.

*

Stan had always been able to tell when Kyla was hiding from him. Her shoulders bunched up and she wouldn't meet his eye and she would smile nervously. She still wasn't talking to him, and he was getting fed up. She couldn't run from him forever. He needed to straighten this out or else he would burst.

He entered the school, banging his shoes to clear off the snow, and headed immediately to where Ky's locked was located. He took off his toque, shaking out his shaggy bangs, and checked his breath, even though he knew it was minty fresh because he'd just brushed his teeth.

As he walked through the halls, shuffling along in his clumsy lope, he noticed a difference in how the world looked. Had he grown over night? He pulled over to check his pants. They were at least half an inch shorter than they had been yesterday. Goddamnit. Why was he still growing at almost seventeen? His birthday was next week!

Oh, well. He wasn't complaining. Now he was six three and a half.

He made his way through the crowded hallway, his stomach squirming but his jaw set determinedly. He was going to discuss this with Kyla, whether she liked it or not. If it turned out she didn't have feelings for him, well, then at least it was clear and they could move on. _He _could move on.

How long had he been in love with her? Two years? Three? Enough to drive him crazy. The whole "in love with best friend" thing was so cliché, but Stan didn't think he realized how shitty that situation was.

One the one hand, he'd known Kyla since they were practically in diapers. They trusted each-other with their lives. They knew each-other's deepest, darkest secrets (well, with the exception of one) and told each-other everything and he should be able to tell her that he loved her as more than a friend, right?

On the other hand, loved screwed things up so much he felt as if he didn't know her well enough to predict how she would react. But he was going to get this over with. The initial shock of his first confession ought to have worn off by now, so she should be open to conversation now. Right?

As he rounded the corner, he stopped dead, gaping at the scene before him. Kyla was standing in front of her locker, _screaming _at Kenny. _Screaming. _Stan didn't want to eavesdrop, and was going to back away when he heard what she was saying.

"—fucking horrible!" she shrieked. People passing were gawking at her, but she definitely was not aware of them. "How could _anyone _have the _gall _to do _anything _like that to _anyone_?!"

Kenny was leaning away from her, his face pale, eyes wide, his arms held out defensively in front of him.

"Ky, I was drunk!"

"_Ky, I was drunk,_" Kyla mimicked, her eyes flashing with rage. "How many times have I heard that before? Is that your excuse for _everything? _Well, it's not going to work this time, Kenny. What you did was inexcusable! I'll never forgive you for this!"

Oh, my God, Stan thought, a twisty feeling churning in his stomach. He had never seen Kyla so angry. Ever. In his life. Not when Cartman bugged her about being a Jew, or called her Mom a bitch, or even when she'd been forced to drink piss at the water park. Her face was bright red and screwed up in fury, her eyes squinty and watery. Her shoulders were stiff and her hands in fists so tight he wouldn't be surprised it her nails cut into her palm. The hallways had cleared now that the second bell had rung; Stan half expected a teacher to barge in and break up their argument.

"You told me you were okay with my sleeping around!" Kenny yelled back, his face now just as red as Kyla's. "I was all hot after your stupid dance and I just had to relieve myself somehow, and she was right there, and so drunk...I didn't think she would remember it!"

Kyla slapped him, hard, across the face. "You stupid fuck; by _relieving sexual tension, _I didn't mean go and fuck my best friend's girlfriend!" Kyla screamed.

Before her words could fully register with Stan, Kenny's hand flashed out and slapped Kyla right back, sending her reeling around. Rage flared up in Stan's gut and he sprang forwards, lunging at Kenny. His fist connected with the taller boy's jaw, sending him back into the lockers with a severe _bang. _

Following this was a deafening silence.

Tears were now rolling down Kyla's cheeks as she clutched the red mark on her cheek, her mouth slightly agape.

Kenny clutched his jaw, his eyes wide as he ogled Stan.

Stan stood, fuming, his hands in fists, his nostrils flaring, his breathing heavy as he fought to control to rage pulsing in his temples.

Kyla was the first to break the silence as the boys stared each-other down. "Stan," she whispered, easing herself between the two boys, a hand on each of their chests as if to restrain them. She looked up at Stan with wet eyes.

Stan wasn't listening. He was too bust glaring at Kenny. "You touch her again and I'll kill you," he hissed, his eyes narrowing to fiery slits.

A guttural sob escaped Kyla. "God, Stan...I didn't want you to find out this way."

He dropped his gaze to Kyla for half a second, and then looked back at Kenny. "Find what out?" he grunted.

Kyla's tense face fell into one of surprise. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how this son of a bitch just slapped you!" Stan shouted, pointed a quivering finger at Kenny's stunned face.

"Might wanna watch who you're calling names, Marsh," Kenny snapped.

"Bite me, asshole."

"Stop it!" Kyla cried, the helpless female in the middle of two separate wars.

They ignored her. "Look what you did!" Stan yelled, pointing at Kyla's cheek. "Look what you did to her face! What kind of man _are_ you?"

"A very pissed off one, right now," Kenny retorted, his blue eyes sharp with hate. "Back off, Marsh. I need to talk to my girlfriend." He put a hand on her arm protectively.

Stan gave Kenny a shove, stepping in front of Kenny. "I told you I'd kill you if you touched her again!"

"Stan, stop it," Kyla wailed.

"He hit you, Ky!" Stan yelled back. "And he's not going to get away with it!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" someone snapped.

The three of them whirled around.

The principal and Mr. Mackey were striding towards them with a frightened student in tow.

"What's going on here?" the principal demanded.

"Nothing, m'am," Kenny growled, glaring at Stan. "Stanley here and I are just settling some tense matters."

"Well if you need to settle something, take it outside," the principal snapped, "and don't disrupt classes." Her eyes fell on Kyla, who was still crying and clutching her cheek. "What's the matter with you, Kyla?"

The redhead just shook her head and looked at the floor.

The principal eyed them all coldly before she turned on her heel, leading the sheepish freshman away.

Mr. Mackey stepped forth to put a bony arm around Kyla's shoulders. "How about the three of you come see me in my office?" she asked calmly.

"Fuck that," Kenny spat. He turned and strode down the hallway. "We'll deal with this alter, Marsh!" she called over his shoulder before shoving the doors open forcefully and disappearing into the snow.

Stan looked at Kyla, who was still sobbing quietly, her eyes on the floor. She'd been crying so much lately. Stan remembered when they were younger she barely ever cried. It had to be more than PMS that was making her so sensitive now.

What Stan didn't know, however, was that Kyla was silently praying as she cried. She was thanking God, despite all the crap he had pulled recently. She was thanking him because in all the anger and excitement, Stan had forgotten what he had heard.

* * *

**Ugh, another short chapter. I have no excuse.**

**Review anyway?? :-)**


	12. The Fun Just Doesn't Last Long Enough

**Ugh, sorry I didn't get this up yesterday; my Mom was being a bitch and made me get off the computer half an hour before I was supposed to. :(**

**I was having trouble deciding what to do with this chapter, but after kicking around some ideas with my friend Kate (TheTwilightMoon) I settled for this. Hope you like it!**

* * *

Stan was surprised that Kyla had agreed to let him take her out, but he couldn't be happier that she had. He wanted to take her mind off that scene with Kenny at school, even if it were just for a little bit.

They had spent the rest of the school day in Mr. Mackey's office talking about their "feelings". Really they had just reflected on what had happened and how we could have handled it better. Ky agreed that screaming at Kenny in the middle of the hallway was probably not the best way to have dealt with it, and Stan admitted that he should have talked to Kenny instead of hitting him.

Yeah, right. Because Kenny didn't deserve what he got.

The screaming part was ace, though. Kyla felt bad. Stan could tell because she cried a lot.

She was still crying as they pulled up in front of the bowling alley in Stan's new truck. Well, it was new to him. It was actually fifty-something years old and wicked cheap. Stan was nursing it out of diesel and into the gas that didn't choke passerby. It was a hunk of pale blue junk straight from the fifties with the big fender and everything. The front seat was one big bench, with no seatbelts. Stan liked that best of all; Kyla leaned on his shoulder as she cried.

Anyway, he figured bowling would cheer her up. They used to go bowling a lot as kids (not to mention the Guitar Hero tourneys they used to play there) but hadn't been there together in years. Stan kept his arm around Kyla's shoulders as he steered her inside, and paid for both of them.

As they were tying their hideous bowling shoes, Stan shot Kyla a thoughtful glance. "You think you can have a little fun?"

She didn't look up from her laces. "I'm with you," is all she said. But it made his heart pound anyway.

The laser lights were on full force. There weren't a lot of people around because it was only four in the afternoon, but there were a couple of groups scattered about the alleys. People were popping cans of soda and laughing and the thunder-clap of bowling balls pulverizing the pins rang in Stan's ears.

They entered their names in the little computer and went to pick their balls. Kyla chose the lightest one: a five-pounder in a light orange colour. Stan laughed at the pathetic weight of her ball and she proceeded to hit him with it: a light blow to the shoulder. It hurt like hell, but he dared not let it show.

He watched her with amused eyes as she widened her stance before the alley. She brought the ball down with two hands between her knees and then threw it away from her. It hit the wood with a crushing _smack _and rolled at a snail's pace down the lane, eventually dropping off into the gutter. Stan laughed, choking on his Coke. Glared turned and glared at him. "You didn't put the gutter guards on!" she whined. There was a hint of her smile on her lips as she pouted.

Stan laughed as he strode past her with his own fourteen-pound ball, patting her on the head. She swung at him half-heartedly; it missed by a mile and he laughed even louder. She was irresistible sometimes.

By the time they were on the fifth round Stan was winning forty to twelve. Kyla threw her ninth gutter ball and squealed in frustration, her cheeks a wonderful pinkish colour. Flustered, she looked at Stan helplessly. "Are you going to help me or not?" she demanded.

He blinked, sipping his Coke. "Hm?"

"Are you gonna show me how to bowl properly, or are you going to just sit there and watch me squirm like the douche you are?" The playful glint in her eye betrayed her false anger.

Stan rubbed his hands together and pushed his sleeves up, taunting her. He picked up his ball and rolled his shoulders as she stood by, her arms crossed. He was about to bring it down when he felt her small hands on his back. "No, you have to _show _me," she said quietly, stepping in front of him with her ball cradled in her hands.

He blinked at her, unsure of what she was asking. "I am showing you," he pointed out, gesturing to his ball.

"It's not going to help if I just watch you. I'm not a visual learner," she informed him.

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Just go through the motions with me."

He bit back a laugh. She glared at him. "Not like _that_, sicko!"

Stan set down his bowling ball and stepped behind her, taking her hand in his. He guided her arm down, and then moved it forwards. "When your arm is about this far from your body," he said, his voice hot on her ear, "let go."

He thought he felt her shiver, but he couldn't be sure.

They went through the movements a couple more times before, together, they rolled the ball down the alley. It struck four of the ten pins; Kyla squealed in delight.

Stan smiled as she did a little dance. She seemed to be doing alright. She was easily distracted. Kyla forgot all her problems when she was having fun.

Half an hour later the game was over and they were sitting at their table sharing a tray of French fries and sipping Cokes. It was way busier now—Friday bowling clubs were meeting and little kids were having birthday parties and such. Stan had won the game by a long shot, but Kyla had ceased to care after she'd actually hit some pins.

"We used to bowl all the time and you kicked my ass," Stan reminded her, chewing on a fry. "Why did you suddenly start sucking?"

"Because you learned how to bowl properly before I did?" She made a question. "You used to gimp bowl, too."

Stan frowned, rubbing his jaw. "I definitely don't remember that."

"Yep. Granny toss. Cartman always gave us shit for it. So did—" She bit her lip and looked down at her Coke, cupped between her hands.

Stan's face fell. Damn it. Her good mood was ruined now.

He leaned towards her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked up, a small smile on her lips. "Nah, I won't bore you with boy troubles," she said weakly.

Stan grabbed the empty fry tray and threw it in the garbage, then grabbed their drinks and pulled Kyla to her feet.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he steered her out of the bowling alley.

"To my truck," he said, not looking at her. "Then I'm taking you somewhere we haven't been in years."

"Trip down memory lane tonight, huh?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow and smiling.

It was already dark outside, even though it was five thirty. There was a chill in the air, but it wasn't snowing. The snow that was already on the ground had frozen and all the roads were slick with ice. Kyla almost fell twice on the way to the truck, and even Stan lost his grip at one point.

"You don't need to be anywhere tonight, do you?" Stan asked as he turned the key in the ignition. "No curfew or nothing?"

"I called my mom earlier to let her know I was with you; I don't think she'd care if I came back tomorrow." She smiled at Stan, who grinned back. "She loves you. Trusts you with my life."

"And your virtue, I guess," he retorted, nursing the truck out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

Kyla let out a bark of a laugh. "Yeah."

They drove in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. Stan glanced at Kyla every few minutes. She was staring out her window, a faraway expression on her small face. Her eyes were thoughtful as she puzzled over events. At least she wasn't crying anymore, Stan thought, scratching his head. He hated it when girls cried, especially when it was Kyla.

Almost halfway to their destination, Stan's phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out of his pocket while still keeping an eye on the road and flipped it open, pressing it to his ear.

"'Llo."

"Stan!"

"Wendy?" Stan asked.

"Stan, where are you?" she shrieked on the other end of the line.

"I'm driving at the moment, can I call you back later?"

"No, Stan. Pull over or something. I have to talk to you _now._"

Stan sighed. "Look, Wends, this is a really bad time, okay? I've got a passenger and if I get in an accident 'cause I'm on the phone—"

"I said _pull over, _Stanley!" Wendy yelled.

Stan huffed and pulled over to the curb. Kyla looked over at him questioningly, but didn't say anything. Stan scowled and said into the phone, "Okay, I'm over. What do you need?" He didn't say what do you want because then she'd probably go apeshit about how rude he was.

"I have something to tell you."

"So tell me."

"I wanted to tell you in person, but when I went to your locker after school you'd already left—and you were supposed to drive me home tonight, I wanted to meet your new truck! I mean, Stan, come on, bailing on me is not going to help things between us—"

"Maybe you should get a clue, Wendy," Stan snapped, interrupting her.

Wendy stopped midsentence. "What?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. What did you need to tell me?"

There was a silence. A very long one. Then, finally, Wendy spoke in a very small voice. "I'm pregnant."

For some reason, Stan had no immediate reaction. He just took a deep, sharp breath and spoke as he exhaled. "For how long?"

"I went to the doctor's after school today, and he said I'm almost four weeks."

"Four weeks."

Kyla was staring blankly at the dashboard, her mouth pressed in a thin line, her face betraying no emotion.

Stan ran a hand through his hair. "Four weeks," he repeated. She didn't need to tell him what that meant. He did the math. "So whose is it?"

"What?" she asked quickly.

"Who's the father, Wendy?" Stan yelled suddenly, sitting up straight in his seat.

Kyla jumped and then burst into tears. Stan barely noticed as Wendy began mumbling random crap into the phone, excuses and other whiny shit.

He lost his patience way faster than he ever had. "Cut the shit, Wendy. I want know who knocked you up and when it happened. _Now_."

"It's...it's yours," Wendy sobbed on the other end of the line. "Please, Stan..."

"Don't you 'please, Stan' me!" Stan cried.

"Stan, it's yours," Wendy wailed. "It has to be!"

"It doesn't take two months for a woman to get pregnant, Wendy!"

Kyla pushed her door open and leaned out of the car, her small body convulsing as she vomited. Stan yelped in surprise, letting out a shrill, "Sick, dude!" before he could stop himself.

"What?" Wendy cried on the other end of the line.

"Uh—hang on, Wendy," Stan said hurriedly, leaning towards Kyla. "Ky, are you okay?"

She shook her head before another wave of puke escaped her.

Stan leaned back against his seat; hand on his now sweating forehead. He rolled down his window and breathed in several times, trying to fight back the nausea that had suddenly overwhelmed him. When he was confident that he wouldn't start vomiting, he put the phone back to his ear.

"Who's the dad, Wendy?" Oh, but he knew. He knew who it was.

Sniffle. "Stan..." Sniff, sniff.

"Tell me who it is, Wendy."

Silence. "Are you with Kyla?"

"Yes. She's puking right now."

Silence. "Then you know."

Silence. "I guess so."

Silence. "I'm sorry, Stan."

Silence. "Wendy?"

"Yeah?"

"It's over."

He hung up and turned his phone off.

* * *

**Wow, can't believe it took me that long to write **_**that**_**.**

**Well, there you have it. Stan and Ky both know what's going down. **

**Just a warning, the next few chapters might be a little upsetting/disturbing. I haven't planned the fine details yet, but they might be. I'll put warnings at the beginnings of said chapters.**

**Anyway, thanks for reviewing everyone, we're almost at 60! I'd really appreciate it if you'd continue to give me some feedback.**

**Even you, Kate. *Pointed look at TheTwilightMoon***


	13. Come Over Here And Kiss Me, Damn It

**I have caught the bug that distracts me from sticking to one project at a time. I randomly started writing a Kyman fic, and that kind of stole all my attention. But I decided that I'd been neglecting this story enough. So, here's the next chapter. FINALLY!!**

* * *

Once she'd finally stopped hurling, Kyla sat back up in the truck, her face chalky pale, her chest heaving as she panted. Stan was bent forward in his seat, his forehead pressed against the steering wheel, his fingers curled in his hair. Several minutes passed in which they sat in silence. Kyla tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. All she could think was, _Poor Stan_. And that she was going to kill Wendy for what she did to him. And, Kenny…well, Kenny was just a stupid, horny retard. Kyla didn't need Kenny anymore.

Something began to throb in her chest and she let out a soft whimper. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She was done crying. She had to be strong, now, for Stan.

She looked over at her best friend, who still hadn't moved. She drew in a shaky breath and said, quietly, "Stan?"

He didn't answer.

"Stan." She looked at the windshield, at the snow falling peacefully outside it. "Stan."

"What." His voice is low and soft.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"It is my fault. I told Kenny he could…you know…but I thought he would understand…never mind. It is my fault, and I'm so, so, _so _sorry."

"I didn't think it would hurt so much."

Kyla looked at him questioningly.

"When we broke up. I didn't think I'd miss her."

Kyla frowned. "But you loved her."

"No," he said, his shoulders slumping. "I didn't. I loved you. Always have. She was just…to make you jealous. But it didn't work, because you had Kenny, right? Then I was stuck with her. I thought that when we broke up I'd be fine, because I never really cared for her; she was just there. Then I realized she was really smart, and really nice, and just…good. She was like my friend. A good friend. And she…betrayed me…and it hurts. Isn't that weird?"

Kyla tried to keep her lip from trembling. "No, Stan. It's not weird. You have every right to be…angry and upset. What she…what they…"

"But I am going to kill Kenny."

"No—"

"For what he did to you."

"No, Stan."

"This is as much his fault as it is hers."

"Yes, but—"

"You don't want me to." He exhales sharply. "You still love him."

"Stan."

"Even though he's basically fucked every other girl in town, including my girlfriend, who is now pregnant with his child, you still love him."

"No."

"Yes. You do. Because if you didn't love him, you wouldn't be blaming yourself for all this. You'd wanna kill him, too. What is it going to take for you to…to realize…how much I…how much you mean to…" His shoulders shook as the first sob escaped him.

Tears flooded Kyla's eyes again, and this time she just let him fall. "I'm sorry, Stan," she said stupidly, because that was all she could say.

"No you're—not."

"I am."

"No. You don't love me."

"I do, Stan. I love you. Just…in a different way. You're my best f-friend." She nearly choked on her sob.

"Love me, Ky," he said. "Please, just love me. I will make you so..._so _happy. And I'd never, _ever _hurt you."

"I don't deserve you," Kyle said, wiping her runny nose on her sleeve.

"And since _I_ don't deserve _you_, we'll call it even," Stan said, sniffling. His breathing was heavy as he tried to calm himself down.

Kyla shook her head, her gaze focusing on the dashboard before her. "Stan, we're friends."

"So?"

"I...can't."

Stan took a deep, shuddering breath. He could feel his heart shattering in his chest, but he tried not to let it show.

Kyla noticed anyway. Her own heart broke a little just seeing her friend in such pain. "Oh, Stan...I'm sorry."

Stan moved his shoulder away from her hand, which she had placed on his back for support, and pushed the driver's side door open. He slid out of the seat and slammed the door behind him as he began walking away from the truck.

Kyla stood in stunned silence, watching Stan walk farther and farther away in the rear view mirror before slamming her forehead down on the dashboard, once, twice, three times, muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck" for every hit. Why was she doing this to him? Why couldn't she just admit that she loved him? Why _couldn't_ they be together? Why not at least try it? Best friends were supposed to be the most compatible.

Finally, after several more head buts to the dashboard and a long, heart-breaking debate with herself, she sat up, huffed a breath out at the windshield for courage, and shoved her door open, sliding out of the truck as fast as she possible could. She stalked around to the back of the truck and stood there, peering through the darkness at Stan, who was a good fifty feet away from her now. "STAN!" she yelled.

He didn't stop walking.

She opened her arms wide, tilting her face to the heavens as she screamed out her confession. "I LOVE YOU!"

This time he stopped.

Kyla took this as a sign to continue. "I love you," she repeated. "I am literally _in love _with you, in every sense of the expression!" She opened her arms to him as her heart came out her mouth. "I don't know for how long, and I don't care. But I am. Maybe I always have been. And now...now I know for sure. I want to be with you. I want to be with you forever and ever and I want...I want all the things you want. I just...I love you so much. I can't even explain. I can't stand it. I need you to get over here. I need you here. Please. Come _here_ and kiss me, damn it!"

Moments passed. They seemed like hours to Kyla as she stood ankle-deep in snow, her arms still spread wide before her and her wild red curls tousling in the rough winter breeze. But finally, finally, Stan turned and ran towards her—no, not ran—Stan _sprinted _towards Kyla. She met him halfway and they collided in a flurry of arms and scarves as they embraced as tightly as humanly possible. Stan covered her face with kisses before finally pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was deep and passionate and heartbreakingly sweet. Kyla smiled into the kiss. She knew now that no matter what happened...she and Stan would be okay. Forever.

* * *

**So it's not as long as previous chapters...but I like it as it is. It's been so long since I've updated you guys are probably like... "What's this story about, again?" Ha-ha. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I don't know how many chapters are left, but there's not a lot. Three or four, maybe. Anyway, please review, and perhaps the next update will be a fast one...? :-)**


	14. Closure Only Creates Open Wounds

**I am so glad I started working on this again! Thanks for all the support guys. Hopefully the updates will be quicker now.**

* * *

Stan glanced up in surprise as Kyla slammed her tray down on the cafeteria table, causing Stan's milk to spill into his chilli. He cursed, but she didn't hear him because she was already swearing like a sailor, sitting down huffily and putting her head in her crossed arms. "My life is over!" she groaned into her arms.

"Why?" Stan asked as he picked the chunks of chilli that had been splashed out of his bowl.

"Everyone hates me."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Okay, well, I know for a fact that not everyone hates you, because I sure don't," he told her with a smile.

"Well, everyone else does."

"No one else matters."

Kyla lifted her head to give him a pointed look. Stan laughed and said, "Okay, why do you think everyone hates you?"

"They think you were cheating on Wendy with me and now that she's pregnant you ditched her to be with me."

"Who's they?"

"_Everybody!_" Kyla cried, putting her head down again. "It's like they have nothing else to talk about!"

"They have no lives," Stan said, waving away the petty rumours. "Don't worry about it, Ky. It's nothing to get upset about."

"I don't want to be thought of as a whore," Kyla protested angrily. "That's not who I am, and I can't believe all these people—who I've basically grown up with—could think that of me."

"Well, first of all, if anyone is going to be alienated by that rumour, it's me," Stan said, reaching across the table to lift Kyla's face up with his hands. "And second, who cares what they think? They don't matter. Sooner or later something else will come up and they'll forget all about this."

"Easy for you to say," Kyla grumbled, leaning out of Stan's touch and retreating back to the table. "You're not the one being called a whore behind your back."

Stan sighed and decided to drop it for now. Kyla was obviously too upset to be coaxed out of it. He changed the subject nonchalantly. "So you're going with me to prom, right?"

Kyla snapped her head up to stare at him incredulously. "What?"

"Prom. You're coming with me, I assume."

Kyla stared at him blankly for a few seconds before the meaning of his words dawned on her. Then, "No."

This time it was Stan's turn to be confused. "What?"

"No, Stan, I do not wanna go to prom with you," Kyla said seriously, barely blinking an eye. She watched Stan flounder in shock for a bit before finally breaking down into a sarcastic smile. "Of _course _I want to go with you, dummy!" she cried, leaning over the table to gently smack him on the side of the head.

Stan caught her hand before she could pull away and kissed her open palm. "Then it's a date. Thanks for scaring the shit out of me."

"Who the hell else am I going to go with?" Kyla demanded, still smiling as she took her and Stan's entwined hands to the table.

"Well, I felt like I had to ask. It's in a few months." He smiled, suddenly looking sheepish.

Kyla smiled back and was going to answer when her eyes focused on something over Stan's shoulder and her face fell. Stan didn't even have to look to know what was up. "Kenny?"

"No..." she said, dragging her gaze back to his. "Wendy. And she's heading this way."

Stan's face paled as he desperately tried to hide himself in his arms. Kyla rolled her eyes. "She's already seen you, dummy. Here she comes."

Wendy had already born down on them, and Stan reluctantly looked up from his cowering position to look at her. "Hey...Wendy," he said quite coolly.

"I need to talk to you," she hissed. Kyla did notice that Wendy insisted on ignoring Ky's presence completely.

"Then talk," Stan said cockily, going back to his food and trying to seem disinterested in her completely. Kyla had to suppress a giggle.

Wendy sighed exasperatedly. "_Alone._"

"Well, I'm eating, so either say what you need to say or get lost," Stan snapped, sipping his milk as if that ended the conversation.

Kyla raised her eyebrow at him, as if to say, "That was a little harsh", but he shrugged and winked at her.

Wendy, her mouth gaping open and closed like a fish, stood there for about three seconds looking quite stunned. Then, in one swift motion, her hand flashed out and knocked the milk carton from Stan's hands, spilling its contents all over him and the table. Stan cursed and cried out as milk shot up his nose.

"You _asshole,_" Wendy spit before turning on her heel and storming away.

Kyla reached out with some napkins and helped Stan clean himself up. "Crazy bitch," Stan grumbled, blowing his nose into a napkin.

"You were pretty mean, Stan," Kyla pointed out as she wiped the table down.

Stan frowned. "Meaner than her cheating on me with your boyfriend?"

Kyla looked at him sympathetically before realizing that he was right. She deserved whatever she got. "What is she going to do?" Kyla wondered aloud once the milk had been cleaned up. "I mean, she can't take care of a baby all by herself. And it's not like Kenny's gonna help her."

"Knowing Wendy, she'll probably abort it or something," Stan grumbled, picking at his food once again. "Murder it."

"Stan."

"Please. Can you allow me to be a little bitter here?"

"I thought you didn't care."

"I don't. I just think she has nerve coming up to me and talking to me like this is my fault. It's _not _my fault, and therefore, I am not going to take part in her life anymore. If she expects me to...fuck her."

"Stan..." Kyla could tell he no longer wanted to talk about it, so she reluctantly let it go. It was better to keep him in a good mood—as hard as that was proving to be as long as Wendy walked the face of the Earth. She started forking her salad into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she searched for something to say to her best-friend-slash-sort-of-boyfriend.

They weren't really _dating _yet—not officially, at least. They hadn't _told _anyone because they figured they should wait awhile for the Wendy-Kenny drama to blow over. If it ever did. But they were happy to take advantage of their alone time while they could and go on being best friends at school and around their parents.

Once lunch had passed the two of them headed over to Biology class, where another boring lecture awaited them. As they took their seats, Kyla gave Stan a warm smile—for no particular reason; she just felt like it. He returned it and squeezed her knee before getting out his notepad and a pencil. She lingered for a moment in the haze of love and then bent to get her things out as well.

*

After school came the great big dump of shock, and it came with the bang of Kyla's locker as it was slammed shut, nearly taking her head off with it. She cried out in surprised and looked to cuss out whoever was responsible—only to be caught off guard by Kenny's steely blue stare. "We need to talk," he whispered to her, leaning dangerously close to her.

"There's nothing to talk about," Kyla snapped, keeping her ground. She reopened her locker and went back to collecting the books she needed for homework. "Go away."

"Free country," Kenny mumbled, leaning his shoulder against the locked next to Ky's and watching her pack her bag. "Why have you been avoiding me all week?"

Kyla glared at him, slamming her math textbook back into her locker. "You're going to stand there and pretend like you don't know why?"

"Ky, I made a mistake. _People make mistakes. _I can't believe how much you're overreacting about this."

Kyla held her breath to keep her composure. She could feel heat crawling up her neck and flooding into her cheeks, her anger slowly heating her blood to a low broil. But she refused to lose it in the hallways again. Instead, she slowly turned and fixed Kenny with the coldest look she could muster. "Stay away from me," she spat, closing her locker with finality and turning on her heel, heading for the door.

Kenny caught her arm before she could make her dramatic exit. "You can't be serious," he said, turning her around so that she was facing him. "Tell me you're not serious."

"I would, but my Momma always told me never to tell lies," Kyla snapped, meeting Kenny's gaze with her own, fiery one. "Leave me alone, Ken."

She moved to go, but he held her in place, his fingers firmly wrapped around her arm. "You're ending it? Because I did something _you told me _to do?"

Kyla wrenched out of his grip. "I think if you think _really _hard about what you did, you _might _start to realize why I am ending this joke of a relationship. If you think about everybody other than yourself, for once in your life, you will understand. Until then, _fuck off._"

She turned and burst out the door, not even waiting for his response.

*

"Stan! STAN!"

Stan wheeled, sighing exasperatedly as Wendy hustled up to him in the parking lot. She was panting slightly, one hand clutching the strap of her purse over her shoulder and the other cupped around her tummy, which didn't even protrude past her shirt. "Wait," she called as she closed the remaining few feet between them.

"I am, if you hadn't noticed."

"Look, Stan..." Wendy paused, looking at her feet, and immediately, Stan felt nothing but sorry for her. "I'm sorry about what happened. What I did was...well, I wasn't in my right mind, I was drunk as hell, but that was no excuse...it's just that...well, he was there, and he and I just...clicked. I don't know. I can't explain it, I don't want to explain it. It happened. What's done is done. But you have no idea how bad I feel about this and how much I wish...how much I wish that if this had to happen, that it was...yours." She bit her lip and looked up at him, her violet eyes pooling with tears. "But it's not, and I'm...I'm sorry."

As much as he would have liked to say something cold and turn away from her, he felt himself soften despite himself. In all the time he'd been despairing about his situation, he hadn't even started to think about how Wendy might feel. He wasn't the one carrying the burden of their broken relationship under her shirt. He, too, looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck out of awkward habit. "Look, Wendy..." He sighed, trailing off. He had no idea what to say.

She shook her head, trying her best to hold back her tears. "I know you probably want nothing more to do with me, but I thought I'd be a bitch and ask anyway." She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "I can't take care of a child on my own. I know I can't. I'm not responsible; I'd have no idea what to do. I'm scared out of my mind. And I was just wondering...maybe, if you could just be there...for me to lean on?" She was chewing her lip so hard Stan was surprised she didn't bite right through it.

He stood there silently while he thought about it, trying to ignore Wendy, who was waiting in an obviously anxious manner. Finally, he sighed, releasing his neck and letting his hands hang helplessly by his sides. "Sure, Wendy," he said quietly, the tiniest of smiles etching the corners of his mouth. "I'll help you."

Her face broke into a smile as a few tears slipped down her cheeks. She moved to put her arms around Stan's waist, burying his face in his jacket. He reluctantly and hesitantly put his arms around her, too. They stood there for awhile, but while Wendy was bursting with relief and happiness, Stan was worrying about what the one he loved was going to think of his promise.

* * *

**Whew! Yay! A new chapter! And I exceeded 2,000 words! Yay. I am happy now. Reviews will make me happier though! :D**


	15. Could This Be The End

**Hahaha…does anyone remember this story?**

"You said what?"

Stan raked his hand through his hair. He didn't know how to respond to Kyla, because frankly, he didn't know the answer. He shrugged. "I told her I'd help her out. It seemed like the decent thing to do."

Kyla's cheeks were flushed. "But what does that _mean _exactly? What does she expect of you? To be the father figure? Why would you subject yourself to that?"

"Well I was mean to her at lunch…" Stan said.

Kyla rolled her eyes. "I didn't expect you to go and make a promise like that!" Then, quieter: "I can't believe she had the balls to ask you."

Stan was quiet for a moment, focusing on the road in front of him. His truck groaned along the slick pavement; no one on the roads was going over fifty miles today, it seemed. Kyla looked like she wanted to be angry, but instead just seemed confused. Stand couldn't blame her, although he appreciated her not blowing her lid the way he thought she would. Then again, everything was different now. He knew he had changed, and Kyla had as well. With everything that had been going on, it was tough not to grow up a little. He glanced at Kyla, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "Let's just take this one step at a time. If it gets to be too much, I'll quit. It's not like I have any legal obligation or anything."

Kyla let out a long breath of air and looked out her window. "You're too nice for your own good," she muttered.

They lapsed into silence. Stan pulled the truck into his driveway and put it in park, yanking the key out of the ignition. They sat there quietly for a few moments before Stan opened his door and slid out of the truck. "You coming?" he asked the fiery girl in the passenger seat.

She glanced at him before opening her own door and getting out the other side. As she came around the front of the vehicle he put his arm across her shoulders and tried to meet her eye. "I'm sorry. It's not gonna change anything with us. Okay?"

"And what is 'us', exactly?" Kyla asked, finally meeting his gaze. "What are we, Stan?"

He paused and looked towards the distant, snow-capped mountains beyond his house. "I guess we need to talk about that."

He led her into the house and helped her out of her coat. She didn't resist; all the fight seemed to have left her recently, like she was in a permanent state of tired. Stan wondered if maybe her blood sugar was low, but he didn't dare ask. Kyla was sensitive about her condition and was also responsible about it.

His parents were still at work and Shelley was somewhere he didn't care, so they were met with silence as they plunked down onto the couch in the living room, sitting on opposite ends. Kyla glanced around the room as if it had actually changed in the thirteen years she had been visiting it. Stan stared at her, noticing how nicely the lavender shirt she was wearing complimented her fiery hair, but that it also emphasized the dark circles under her eyes…

"You haven't been sleeping." It was more statement than question. "Insomnia is back?"

Kyla didn't answer. She just met his eyes. Then looked away. Stan sighed. He wasn't sure how to approach whatever it was they obviously needed to talk about. Not so obvious, after all.

"Are you mad at me?" He figured it was a good way to start. Get her to say what was on her mind so that he knew what the impending fight would be about. This was how fights always started between Stan and Kyla. One of them being quiet and passive until the other finally called them out on it. And it always started with "Are you mad at me?" because that was usually the case.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm mad at everything. It's ruined what I thought would be the best thing to ever happen to me." When she looked at him, he saw the spark in her eye was gone, and he knew just how much this had been tormenting her. "I wish Wendy wasn't pregnant. I wish Kenny wasn't the dad. And I really wish you hadn't agreed to be a part of this whole thing."

"It was stupid of me," Stan said. "I knew as soon as I said it. But I didn't know what to do. She looked so sad and helpless. I felt really bad for her. I mean—I hadn't been treating her right. I'm not really surprised she cheated on me." He paused for a moment. "I just wish it hadn't been with him. I wish it hadn't hurt you."

"You need to tell her now," Kyla said, some strength returning to her body language. She sat up straighter on the couch. "Phone her and tell her you can't help. Tell her it's too much and you just can't do it. It's not your responsibility." She looked away from Stan, and the hands she was folding and unfolding in her lap. "She's taking advantage of you."

Stan's gaze softened as he saw Kyla's teeth pull her bottom lip into her mouth, an adorable gesture he'd found irresistible for years. He reached out and put a hand on her knee. "Does it mean that much to you?"

"How much does it mean to you?" she asked. "Do you really want to be involved in this kid's life—a kid who isn't one fiber yours, and kid who is the result of a night of cheating and substance—and in turn be involved in Wendy's, for an indefinite period of time?"

"No," he replied. "Not one bit."

Kyla gestured to Stan's pocket, where his phone made a squarish bump through his jeans. "Then call her."

He pulled out his phone and numbly dialed the number. He didn't want any more hurt feelings or tears. He didn't want any of this shit anymore.

"Hello?" Wendy's voice was hoarse.

"Hi."

"Stan?"

"Yeah."

"Is everything okay?"

She could sense the dread in his voice. "Listen, Wendy," he began, "I can't do this. I can't help you with the kid. I can't be a part of it. You know that and it was selfish of you to ask this of me. And it was stupid of me to accept. I should have said this right away. I'm sorry, but I won't have anything to do with you or the kid."

There was a long silence on the other line. Kyla was watching Stan anxiously. Then, "I know, Stan." Wendy's voice was small. "I knew right away you didn't really mean it. And you're right—it was gross of me to even ask you. I was just desperate and didn't know who else to ask." She took a deep breath. "I'm aborting it."

"You are?" Kyla looked up when she heard Stan's incredulous voice.

"I have an appointment tomorrow," Wendy said. "Kenny's not gonna be involved and I can't do this on my own. My parents don't know. So I figured I might as well get rid of it before anyone else's feelings get hurt."

Stan ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "Wow, Wendy. That's really brave of you."

He could hear her trying to suppress tears. "I'm gonna go now. But…thanks for everything, Stan. And I really am sorry."

"You bet, Wends," he said. "I'm sorry too. Good luck with everything."

She hung up. Before he could close his phone Kyla threw herself on him. They lay parallel with the couch, bodies pressed together, Kyla's curls tickling his cheeks as she stared down at him. "It was the right thing," she said.

"I know." His hands wandered across her back, feeling the curve of her spine and the clasp of her bra underneath her shirt. Her fingers tangled in his jet black locks as she pulled his face to hers, locking his lips in a deep kiss. Her legs moved up to straddle his hips as the kiss deepened. His grasp on her became stronger; he held her little body tightly against his, feeling every part of her figure pressed against his chest. He could feel her heart beating wildly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, the curves of her small breasts pressing against his collarbone as their tongues fought for dominance.

Stan folded forward, taking her with him, and reversed their positions, settling his hips between her thighs so he was draped on top of her. Keeping he kissed along her jawline up behind her ears, then down the nape of her neck to her collarbone. She let out little sighs, her skin electric with the feeling of his touch. Her hands wandered across his broad back, feeling every muscle ripple as he kissed every inch of her.

Finally, he pulled away and stared into her eyes. They were both panting. Judging by Kyla's pink face, he knew she could feel his erection pressing into her thigh. Something about the way she looked at him told him he needed to stop before this got any further. He scooped her up and held her in his arms, lying so that they faced each-other on the couch, wrapped in each-other's embrace.

"I love you," Stan said between delivering light kisses to her nose, eyes and cheeks.

Kyla smiled a small smile and nuzzled her face into his neck. She didn't respond, and he didn't expect her to. He was perfectly content to hold her still in the reverie of the love they had finally found for each-other.

The next day, neither Wendy nor Kenny were at school. Kyla and Stan sat together in drama class, with Cartman lazily lugging around with them for lack of a better crowd to hang out with. For once they didn't mind him being around; the constant bickering between the three contained the only hint of normalcy in their lives among all the things that were far too… not normal.

They still weren't "out" yet, as a couple. The good thing about having been good friends for so long was that nobody questioned why they spent every waking minute together or waited at each-other's lockers at break time. To everyone else, it all seemed to be back to normal. But for them, they knew it never would be.

Christmas and Hanukkah came and went, and soon it was New Years. The school had been abuzz with gossip about the huge party Token was throwing on New Years Eve before the break, and it was all people were talking about on Facebook. Stan and Kyla had opted not to go and to have a quiet night at home by themselves, however the day before the party Kyla stood up from Stan's bedroom floor, where they'd been quietly playing chess, and said, "Let's just go to the goddamn party."

Stan looked at her quizzically. "Huh?"

"Token's New Years party. Let's just go. All we do is sit at home and do nothing." She sat down again and took his hand. "I want people to know about us. It's been months. Please, let's just go and have some fun."

Stan's face broke into a wide smile. "Well, then," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Looks like we needs to find you a dress, Broflovski."

The party, coincidently, was not as outrageous as the last one Token had thrown. Everyone seemed in far better spirits, and while the champagne was consumed by the case, it was by far a more merry and less dramatic event than the previous event. Kyla was modestly dressed in dark jeans and a form-fitting red shirt, her curls pinned back in a loose arrangement. Stan barely took his arm from around her waist the entire night.

Kyla couldn't shake Kenny's gaze all night. She hadn't acknowledged him, but she knew he was watching her every move. Wendy wasn't present, as was to be expected. There was a small mercy, there. She didn't think she could face the two of them together.

She knew Kenny would corner her eventually, though; Stan had broken the seal and had to make frequent trips to the bathroom. Feeling a little buzzed herself after sipping a glass of champagne, Kyla made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was empty, except for the blond-haired bastard himself.

"Were you planning on avoiding me all night?" he asked her.

"Still am." She grabbed a glass from Token's cupboard and poured some water from the tap, even though she knew the fridge had a built in filtered water dispenser.

He took a step towards her and leaned back against the counter, beer in hand. She wondered how many he had had. Judging by the slightly glassy look in his eyes, he had not just been consuming alcohol tonight.

"Are you high?" she asked.

She smirked. "On life, babe." He took a swig of his beer.

She considered telling him not to call her that, but realized that was probably the reaction he wanted. So she just turned to go. His hand was on her shoulder in an instant.

"Don't think I don't know what's going on here," he said, his low voice rumbling in his chest. His breath reeked of beer and the top three buttons of his dress shirt were undone. "Marsh has barely left your side all night."

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Kyla snapped. "You're embarrassing yourself. Leave me alone."

She pushed his hand away and stalked out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with Stan as she rounded the corner. He saw the distressed look in her eyes, and then saw Kenny round the corner after her.

"Leave us alone, man," Stan said, although his eyes were icy despite his rational tone. "Let's not have another scene."

Kenny held up his hands. "Whatever, man. I was just wondering if she really is a prude or if she just didn't wanna put out for me."

Kyla glared at Kenny. "You know, Kenny, I used to really like being your friend. And then I liked being your girlfriend, for awhile. But I can't believe that I never saw what a sad, superficial asshole you are."

"You know that's not true," Kenny said, his whole manner softening. "You know I'm not a bad person, Ky."

She sighed.

"I just don't know what to do, you know?"

"Try asking someone who cares," Stan snapped, grabbing Kyla's hand and pulling her away.

She resisted, and faced Kenny. "We're all going through shit, Kenny. But you need to realize that what you did was unforgiveable. You're not an asshole, but please stop acting like it. And for everyone's sakes, leave me alone. I'm never coming back to you and we'll probably never be friends again. So deal with it. Everyone else has to." She turned to go, then stopped. "And maybe try owning up to your goddamn responsibility. Wendy needs you. If you were less selfish you would see that."

And that was the last time Kyla ever spoke to Kenny McCormick.

At the stroke of midnight, Stan gave Kyla a huge kiss. He held her tight and danced with her as the crowd around them sang "Auld Lang Sin". Then they moved out onto the balcony, the same balcony where he had first told her that he loved her. And he told her again, and this time, she said it back.

"I love you, too," she said, and then stood on her toes to kiss him.

The year had been turbulent and challenging, but they had finally found each-other as they were meant to be.

**I guess I'll just end it there?**


End file.
